Loveless War
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: "I thought you ver an angel…" Mathew has found a stranger covered in blood in the snow. And, with the price of helping him, Mathew might just have to restart a war he hadn't even known occurred. AU fic, USUK, later mention of GiriPan, GerIta, RusCan.
1. Prologue

His life was slipping through his fingers…

_Blood, blood everywhere… The warzone was one fallen body after another, carcasses stretching as far as the eye could see, coating the ground so thickly, there was no choice but to walk on them._

He laughed bitterly, his red-stained teeth gleaming as snow danced lightly in the air, cascading soundlessly to the white floor.

_He stood among the bodies, a demented smirk on his face, his white hair matted to his face with the scarlet life-liquid and sweat – with the acidic rain that fell endlessly and the filth that came from standing amongst such fatality. _

He wished, not for the first time, that he could set the world aflame so that there would never again be snow.

_His smirk grew until it slit across his face, his jagged teeth revealed. His once vivid violet eyes were soaked in crimson. His chest was bare, red smeared from one side of his torso to the other. His black pants were ripped and sagging in the constant downpour and splatter of life. He wore a pale scarf around his throat – the only thing amongst the miles of destruction not touched with a single drop of blood. The ends of it fluttered angrily in the wail of wind that accompanied the raging storm. _

He could feel darkness creeping in on him. It clawed at his mind, making it so much more difficult to form a coherent thought. He wasn't scared – that much he knew; bitter, angry, hateful, _even lonely_, but not scared. Death was his friend. He had fed the abyss that was death many times in the past, now death would accept him as well.

_The first to oppose him… was everyone whose life was hidden in the shadows, whose humanity was farce and their life far from what humans would call 'normal'. They formed wave after wave of attacks, continuously bombarding him until he collapsed beneath their combined forces. One of them he could have taken on without trouble; a few of them he could have taken down with only some difficulty; all of them, however… He lost. _

The only warmth he had was that of the blood seeping from his body, sinking into the winter crystals and soaking the ground red around him in a growing pool.

_They dragged his half-dead corpse into the frozen wilderness, announcing that he shall die there – alone, weak, and without the warmth of summer that he had so desperately strived for as well as with not a flower in sight. It was to be his punishment – it wasn't even the frigid tundra he had been born to. He was on unfamiliar ground. Nonetheless, they left him there, not one of them ever looking back as they departed to fix the mess he himself had created. _

His world dipped into blackness, an endless void that swallowed him whole. There was no pain, no cold, no thought… Just a deep silence. And he was… sad.

_Staring at their retreating backs, all he wanted to do was ask them why they were so cruel – why they had driven him down when he had been so close to creating the perfect world; a world where everyone was beneath him, a world where he had the largest family ever to be known, a world where he would protect and love them all as if they were his own children seeking solace. Scarlet tears stained his cheeks. _

He had never found the love he had so desperately hunted down.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm not completely sure what I was thinking about or how this started, but I was tackled by this vicious plot bunny on Saturday and it has hardly let me rest since, so… Yeah.

The good news is that the story is already finished; however, I am only going to update a few chapters at a time (depending on how long or short they are or how excited I am).

Also! I've debating whether or not to have a beta for this story… Anyone know how to go about it?


	2. Stranger in the Snow

Mathew had been doing his rounds, hiking along a 10-mile long diameter around his house, the tiny cottage set at the radius of his territory.

His black nostrils widened somewhat and then he snorted, pawing at his muzzle. _Blood_ – so much blood that the scent of iron stung his delicate nose.

His unnatural cerulean blue eyes strained into the distance as he twisted his long, white head from side to side, trying to find a direction for the overwhelming aroma.

He snorted when he faced the right way, a gruff moan rumbling from his throat before he began running – all four limbs spreading widely across lengths of fluffy white ground until he was nearly half a mile away from where he had just stood.

He paused, head to ground as he stalked hesitantly forward.

There was a body in the snow – a tall man with hair matted down with blood and dirt, face bathed red and eyes shut, teeth revealed somewhat to also be splattered in the red liquid.

He circled wearily around the form, knowing in his heart that he needed to help the stranger but not certain if he _should_. There was too much blood, too few wounds for it all to belong to him alone.

There would have had to be many deaths, many bloodbaths, before anyone could remotely be as soaked as him.

He shifted closer. At first glance, the man appeared dead – but he knew that for a lie, he could smell how recent the corpse was and, just barely, he could make out the faintest heartbeat.

He nuzzled the man's cheek, trying to elicit a reaction. There was none.

Gently, he bit down on the stranger's shoulder, bending down as he did and awkwardly dragging the man across his meaty shoulders.

He inwardly scowled as the blood on the man coated his tongue and then his pristine white fur. His blue tongue flicked distastefully over his muzzle before he altered around a bit to make sure that the man was in place.

He made his way slowly back to his cottage, fearfully aware of the man riding him.

He pushed his fear to the side, mentally reprimanding himself – everyone could use help once in a while. Even if he looked… less than trustworthy; maybe he had been traumatized? What if he had been trying to save someone? What if he had been caught in an accident? Chances were, _he_ didn't spill _all_ of that blood.

But a different thought broke through, discomforting him more than anything else: _If that's true, than what was he doing alone in the middle of nowhere with not another person in sight?_

Mentally, he shivered, a part of him wanting to leave the man in the snow, let him die at his own pace – but there was a different part of him, a part stronger than the former part, that told him not to.

There was something about the man that wouldn't let Mathew listen to his common sense.

So he trudged on, closing in on his home with the nearly dead man staining his back.

He pushed his head against his front door, knowing that it was not closed all the way, much less locked. His back paw slammed it shut and he delved into the depths of his home.

The man, he knew, would have been too heavy to carry otherwise.

He shouldered the man off of him and onto his bed, ignoring the shudder that accompanied watching the blood bathe his sheets almost instantaneously, as if the man was nothing more than a sack of leaking scarlet.

Bones cracked and fur receded; his jaw snapped out of place and his ears flattened to his skull, sliding down the sides of his head. His paws lost their thickened and claws, reshaping into elegant – if not calloused – hands. His black lips turned rosy pink and his blue tongue shortened – though it stayed blue.

He sat on edge of the bed, a young, beautiful man with cerulean blue eyes and golden blonde hair that fell angelically around his face with one wayward curl springing from his bangs.

For long moments, he only stared at the being on his bed, for once uncertain where to start. The man was still dying – but Mathew could not make out what wounds were fatal through the layers of blood – both fresh and dry.

He stood to his feet; whether or not he was risking the man's life by not starting on his wounds, he had to clean him up first. And then he would try to save his life.

On his way to get a basin and a towel, he passed what appeared to be a polar bear cub lounging lazily on the kitchen table, snoring loudly.

He scratched the bear's exposed belly distractedly on his way to the cupboards. He pulled out a large basin and then retrieved a towel and a number of washcloths as the basin filled with steaming water.

The cub, by now, had sat up, aroused from his sleep by the belly rub, and stared with blank black eyes at the young man. "Who?" The polar bear spoke with a small, almost squeaky voice.

"Mathew." The blonde replied without looking up. "I'm the one who feeds you."

"Oh…" The bear flopped back down, limbs spread from his body as he laid on his back, snoring again in no time.

Mathew, with a half-filled basin and an armful of towels, went back to the damaged being in his bedroom.

With all the gentleness of a harmless mother, he bathed the stranger, keeping careful track of his shallow breathing and stuttering heartbeat.

He went through nine basins of water before he gave in and dragged the unconscious body to the shower, struggling with every step as the man was now so much larger than him and seemingly hundreds of pounds heavier.

He laid him down in the bathtub and – gently, carefully, slowly – ran the detachable shower head across his frame, scrubbing here and there where the blood would refuse to come off under the persuasion of the berating water.

As the heat soaked into the stranger's body and liberated him from the filth, Mathew could see a clear difference in the man.

One that made him uncomfortable.

The man was handsome – beautifully masculine. He had a baby face with a dominant nose; white-blonde hair that shone healthily; pale, ivory skin… the man made Mathew want to flush and turn around to not have to bear his nudity, but it wasn't possible.

He had to finish what he had started.

Once he was finished in the bathtub, the receptacle was cloaked in a pinkish-red, mocking Mathew with how difficult it all would be to watch it off later.

Nonetheless, he put all of his strength into carrying the man back to the bed – becoming drenched on the way and antsy with the burly body pressed so close to his own slim frame.

Next, he went for the first aid kit.

The fatal wound, he realized, was the heart – there was a wound just above it, one that frightened Mathew a bit because there was something… _odd_ about it.

When he went to stitch it up, his hand slipped… _into_ the wound. He would have thought to touch muscle or ribs, but _no_. His hand touched the heart itself.

Both he and the man flinched at the touch; the difference was that the man stayed unconscious as Mathew released a surprised yelp.

He hastily went about all the wounds, mind whirring with what had just happened.

When he finished, he was exhausted, filthy, and sweaty. There was a pile of failed bandages to his side, each one a little less drenched in blood.

How could anyone lose so much fluid and _still_ be alive? It wasn't natural. This _man_ was one endless gash whose only purpose seemed to be to _keep bleeding_.

Mathew stood shakily to his feet. He would clean up the messes later. He would check the man's heartbeat again later. He would eat never again and he would possibly not catch a wink of sleep.

But he would ignore the stains in the bathroom and take a shower. He would wash away the sweat, the grit, and the blood until he was squeaky clean and then he would go outside into the falling snow until he felt better.

And that was exactly what he did.

* * *

Author's Note: This story is odd in that it will change point of views constantly; however, they will (usually) be third person limited. Again! I would like to discuss betas! Why, because I never do a proper job of looking back over my work and I want this story to be as awesome as possible!

I am open to any questions anyone has! If there are any questions… ?


	3. Forgotten

He came slowly to.

His body hurt… everywhere. His head was pounding furiously, his limbs felt heavy and numb at the same time, his chest thumped uncertainly, his breathing was ragged, and his thoughts were swamped in an undefeatable haze.

It felt like hours before he could make out that he was even warm, that there was something soft beneath him. Experimentally, he turned his head – _bad idea_.

Something was driving spikes through his skull; he was certain of it.

It took a while longer before he was willing to try again.

The wall across from him – he figured out after a considerable amount of time – was white. There was a cherry-red dresser pressed against it, picture frames decorating its flat surface; he couldn't make out what they depicted through his bleary vision.

Next to his bedside was a pile of red-soaked bandages and an open first aid kit. A few feet from that was a bedside table, again cherry-red, with a book on top of it and a clock. There were a couple of ornaments, too… what looked to be maple leaves made of…glass?

The carpet, as far as he could tell, was the same red as the dresser and table.

Tilting his head slightly, very slowly, he could see a door out of the corner of his eye. He could catch a glimpse inside and it appeared to be a bathroom, if what appeared to be a sink through his hazy vision was any clue.

Tilting his head up and to the side, he saw another door; beyond it, he saw a hall.

His body wailed morosely at him, demanding stillness, demanding sleep. His mind was working sluggishly, every observation driving an axe through his head.

He shut his eyes tiredly, breathing deepening as he gave into nothingness.

It felt like only minutes later when he became aware of something touching him.

He startled somewhat, instantly regretting it when his body screamed in agony. He managed to bite back a whimper as his eyes slid open to reveal cloudy, vivid violet eyes.

There was an angel before him – or what looked to be an angel.

A boy with golden blonde hair and deep, watery blue eyes – wasn't that how angels looked?

The angel appeared to feel his gaze and looked from whatever he had been doing with his torso to meet his stare.

A nervous smile broke across the angel's face. "H-hello… You're awake, th-that's good… How do you feel, eh?... S-stupid question… I bet you f-feel like you've been murdered…" The boy laughed uneasily.

He couldn't help but to smile – though even that hurt and it felt awkward on his lips. "D-da, I do…" His voice was hoarse and low, scratching as his throat as he spoke until he felt like he was cutting his vocal chords open.

He winced.

The angel left him, but was back in less than a moment, a glass of water in hand. "H-here, I'll help you…" The blonde lifted his head carefully, slowly, and held the glass to his lips.

He drank greedily, continued to trying to drink even after the water was gone.

His head was set back down as the angel refilled the glass in what he had earlier guessed to be the bathroom before returning.

This repeated several more times before the angel stopped, even though he felt as if he were dying of thirst.

"I-I know you're thirsty… but t-too much and you'll get sick, eh."

He looked up into those cerulean blue eyes with radiating pain. Somewhere in the back of his head, he understood that. However, he wasn't thinking with the back of his head.

His stomach felt caved in and his flesh was shaking from exhaustion. He felt dehydrated, starved – _like he had been tortured_.

He frowned. "… Do… I know you?"

The boy stared at him for a long moment before offering a strained smile. "N-no… I found you o-outside and brought you to m-my home." The angel took his limp hand into both of his, shaking it loosely. "I am Mathew – Mathew Williams. W-who are you, eh?"

He thought about that for a moment.

Finally, he blinked up at the boy – at Mathew. "… I thought… you vould know."

The smile disappeared. "… A-are you saying… _you_ don't know?"

He gave that careful (or as careful as he could with how his brain rioted) consideration before answering simply. "Da."

Even in his pained state, he could see Mathew pale by at least three shades. "… Oh, maple…"

He wasn't sure what _maple_ had to do with it…

But he felt comfortable. He felt warm and he felt _content_ for some reason. Aided also by his pain, sleep's tantalizing embrace was again woiding around him. He sighed as his eyes fluttered shut.

He fell into a healing sleep.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Mathew was now set with a dilemma.

He had a giant in his bed that didn't even remember who he was; he could only hope that, once he was awake again, once pain and blood loss weren't clouding his thoughts, he would remember.

Yet that wasn't his only dilemma – his other dilemma was that the man's life wasn't certain. He lived in the tundra and so knew for a fact that 'safety' was never guaranteed.

For now, the man was sleeping. But he might slip away in his unconscious state.

Mathew sighed and settled down on the edge of the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them, preparing himself for a long night.

The man might get a fever; one of the wounds might get infected.

_He might never remember who he is_.

Mathew shivered.

_He might be lying_.

A cold hand reached into his chest and wrapped around his heart; fear grabbed him in its icy embrace.

What if he hadn't forgotten anything? What if he _was_ lying? There had been so much blood… Mathew wouldn't have wanted to admit to remembering who he was either had he been so drenched in the scarlet life.

_He might be telling the truth. He might be traumatized._

But then _why_ had he been in the middle of nowhere? _What_ could have traumatized him with not another soul within a 25-mile radius? Heck, in that amount of area, there weren't even other polar bears. The man hadn't been close enough to the sea for anything to have happened there.

He was scaring himself, creating the worst scenarios possible. He had to _stop that_.

Whether or not the man remembered, it was too late to send him outside to die in the snow. Mathew had willingly brought him into his home, aware of the chance he was taking, and now he had to deal with the consequences, no matter what they were.

He felt a moment of fear for the bear still curled up in the kitchen – _Kumaichi… Kumachiro? Kumaji? His bear_ didn't have to pay for his stupidity if worse did come to worst.

He went into the kitchen and gently lifted the bear to his chest, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest with what he was about to do.

Even if he couldn't remember his bear's name (and his bear couldn't remember his), they shared an intimately close relationship – one based on years of friendship and loyalty to each other. Sometimes, it was his bear taking care of him and other times it went the other way around.

So he couldn't endanger his bear.

The cub woke up in his arms, looking groggily up to him.

"I'm sorry, Kumajino… I don't know if this man is safe or not…" His voice, despite devoid of stuttering, was almost too quiet. With his bear, he never did have to speak too loud and speaking in a loud voice is what caused him to stutter so insistently. "I need you to stay in the territory, eh? If I don't find you within a week, then we know I died a bleeding heart and I'll need you to tell the family that I loved them all even if they were all hosers. If I find you before the week is out, we know that he isn't what I thought he was, eh?"

The bear stared emotionlessly up at him. "Stay." He said point-blank. "Chance it together."

Mathew smiled softly.

"Feed me."

He laughed. "Of course you were only thinking about food!" He paused, smile slipping away. "Are you sure?"

"Who?"

"Mathew. I'm the one who's going to feed you."

"I'll stay."

Mathew pressed a kiss to the creature's brow, tension swirling away into relief. "Thank you…"

Maybe… maybe this wouldn't turn out so badly… right?

He could only hope.

* * *

Author's Note: I am sad… I have been getting hardly any reviews! Is the story inadequate?

But, for those who have been reviewing (and questioning) THANK YOU!

Once question that seems to be coming up a lot is what time period this is set during: this is modern time. I'm sorry for the confusion, but there was just nowhere to make it obvious. There will be some hints throughout the story, though.


	4. Angels and Sunflowers

The man slept in for three days after his first bout of consciousness. He sprang a fever the second night, sweating excessively even as he shivered, muttering under his breath strange things in foreign languages that Mathew could not even name.

He went in between huddling beneath the mountain of blankets that Mathew had thrown over him and shoving them off with blasts of what sounded to be curses in his crazed-unconscious state.

Mathew would have dragged him to the shower to take an ice-cold shower, to get his temperature to drop, but every time he tried, he was hurt.

It wasn't that he was afraid to get hurt again – it was just that he hurt too much now to even try. Every touch he graced the man with was returned with animalistic snarls or frightened whimpers before whatever he was touching the man with were violently attacked.

He held an icepack to his shoulder which had connected painfully with the wall after being bodily thrown (something he hadn't realized the man could do). There were various bruises and gashes from where the man had struck out at him or clawed him – one time even bit him.

His body ached too much to support the weight of the stranger, so he tried to do the next best thing and soaked a number of towels in the snow outside before draping them across the man's front.

It was on the morning of the third day that the fever broke and the man finally had a fitful sleep.

Mathew nearly collapsed from exhaustion as he cleaned up from the sickness, bags under his eyes and his fingers shaky.

He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten – the night before, he had tried. But the knowledge that there was a man twisting in feverish agony down the hall from him had made him lose his appetite.

He was certain the last time he had slept had been before he had found the stranger outside.

The more and more he went through, the more his resolve to save the man faded. He told himself to just live with it for now – even if the man didn't remember who he was once he woke up, at least then he would be awake.

The thought was comforting.

At the end of that day, he could think of nothing better to do than to crawl into his bed – despite the blood on the sheets, the stranger on the other side of it, and the smallness of the mattress that would guarantee that he would be pressed close to the man – and _sleep_.

He would feel better in the morning, he was certain.

With that thought in mind, he was passed out before his head even touched the pillow.

Sometimes, it wasn't so great being nice…

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

When he woke up, he was blearily aware of the fact that his bed seemed… _empty_ somehow. This was disconcerting because it wasn't any bigger than it usually was. For a moment, he thought it was because he couldn't feel his bear curled up to him.

And then he remembered the man he had saved.

_Where was he? _

He wasn't in the bed anymore.

Mathew shot up, eyes wide with growing horror. Someone with those kinds of wounds shouldn't be moving around already!

He nearly tripped as he got out of the bed and then tore down the hall to the front door, believing (for some unknown reason) that the man had decided to leave.

He flung open the door, only to be nearly blinded by the whiteness outside.

A blizzard.

Usually, he loved blizzards – he loved to stare at them from the window or even go outside and play in the thick descent of ice crystals.

For the first time in his life, his heart dropped at the sight. If the man was out there, he wouldn't be alive for much longer and he would most certainly be lost. With all of the snow, it would be difficult for Mathew to track him, too.

"It is cold outside, da." A voice from behind him stated, light and childish in tone, yet definitely accented and somewhat masculine.

Mathew spun on his heel and just _stared_ at the man.

He hadn't left.

His relief greatly outweighed the small pang of dismay he felt in his heart.

"I-I thought you left, eh…" He remembered to shut the door when he began to feel the wind beat frigidly at his back, drafts of snow starting to pile in the doorway. "H-how do you feel?"

The stranger cocked his head, vivid violet eyes focused on Mathew. "I don't know." He frowned thoughtfully. "… Do I know you?"

Mathew sagged against the door; this again. Well… maybe it wasn't too much of a surprise – the man seemed pretty out of it when he first asked. "N-no… I was… outside and I f-found you…" He offered a strained, fake smile. "M-my name is Mathew W-Williams…" He inwardly crossed his fingers. "Can… C-can I please k-know your name?"

The man's expression of disappointment made him lose hope. "Da… Ven I know my name, I vill tell you, Mat-ew… Mat-dew… Mmm… Matvey… I vas hoping you knew who I vas." He settled for weakly.

Mathew could guess that the stranger's accent was too thick to pronounce his name right. "Y-you're calm for s-someone who doesn't know w-who they are, eh…"

And he looked about to fall over as well, he realized.

What had he been doing up anyway?

"I do not know vy… but I am not afraid of not knowing who I am…" The stranger answered honestly. He even giggled – _giggled_, before looking down at Mathew. "Are you an angel?"

Mathew frowned and shook his head wordlessly. That was a strange question.

The stranger pouted. "I thought you ver an angel…" He looked so downcast and upset that he wasn't…

Mathew bit his bottom lip and reached out gently, petting the man's white blonde hair. "I-it's okay… I-I'm not an angel… b-but, if you want, I c-can be your guardian… until y-you remember who you a-are, eh?"

The man stared with wide down at him. After a long moment of awed silence, he broke out into an innocent grin. "Da! I vould like that! … Can I call you 'angel'?"

It was on the tip of Mathew's tongue to outright deny him, but he looked into those earnest vivid violet eyes and just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"… If… If you w-want to…"

"Yay~" The man went to pull Mathew into a hug, but winced as he stretched his arms. His smile morphed into a painful grimace. "Do you know vat happened to me?"

Mathew shook his head sadly. He ushered the man into a seat in the kitchen. "I-I'll make you something to e-eat… I bet you're s-starving."

And he would make himself something to eat as well.

As if the word 'eat' was a summoning, his bear scuttled into the kitchen, claws clicking against the tiles.

The cub paused and tilted his head, studying the man with intelligent black eyes.

The man stared back with a blank expression. Abruptly, he grinned. "Aaah~ is that a polar bear?" He laughed softly. "It is cute!"

Mathew frowned but then forced himself to smile. "Y-yeah…"

The man had forgotten his own name, what had happened to him… but he remembered everything else. He also said 'da' instead of 'yes', which he thought was strange.

Which reminded him. "Wh-what were you doing up, eh?"

The man continued to stare with fascination at the cub who stared carelessly back at him. "I had to pee. I vanted to not move, but then I saw an angel lying beside me, so I vent to the toilet instead."

Mathew nearly smacked his forehead. He had been so certain that the man had left he hadn't bothered to check the bathroom.

He wanted to continue asking questions – questions that would make it obvious that he distrusted the stranger – like how had he knew where the restroom was? But he already knew the answer to that; the bathroom could be seen from the bed.

He wanted to ask how someone could be so calm with not remembering a thing about themselves, despite the man's earlier answer.

He wanted to ask how the man could answer his every question so readily – that he found the most unnerving.

He bit his bottom lip instead. Maybe… maybe the man honestly couldn't remember who he was. The man seemed to have the mentality of a child and children's concerns dwindled down to food, playing, and sleeping. If that were the case, than the man… honestly was okay as he was. At least for the moment.

Or maybe he could but just wanted Mathew to think otherwise. If that was true, than at least he hadn't tried to hurt him. He was being curious and gentle like a kitten with its eyes just opened – _like a child_.

He looked at the man out of the corner of his eye as he set about making some soup and pancakes – soup for the man in case he couldn't handle anything too heavy and the pancakes for himself.

"S-so… what are we going to call you, eh?"

The man looked up to him curiously. "Aaaah… Hm." His eyes looked around the room as if it would have an answer for him. For the first time, he seemed troubled with having forgotten everything. "… I do not know…" His eyes landed on a flower Mathew had received as a gift about a week ago.

Gilbert, his friend of many years, had said that the flower reminded him of Mathew. And then he had grinned and gone on to say something that had prompted Mathew to kick him out of his house.

Nonetheless, he had placed the flower into a small, crystalline vase and kept it trimmed so that it wouldn't die anytime soon.

The sunflower glowed golden with the white of the snow from the window igniting its colors.

Mathew looked from it to the man. The man stared as if fixated. "Do… Do you l-like it?"

"Da…" The man breathed in a love struck-way. "… Vat is it?"

Mathew gaped at him; he could remember what a polar bear was, but not a sunflower? Was it possible to be so selective in memory?

_Or maybe he just held a very strong connection to sunflowers…_

Somehow, the thought was comforting.

He smiled at the man's fixated adoration. "I-it's a sunflower, eh… Th-they like warmth a-and sun… I-I'm surprised it's l-lived this long…"

The man struggled to his feet – Mathew could see clearly now the pain it brought him to do so, how his eyes squinted slightly and he scowled in discomfort, how his body tensed with the movement and his fisted hands turned white in the knuckles – and limped over to the vase.

He touched the petals with a touch almost not there. He giggled in delight. "It is a very pretty flower, da~!"

Mathew's smile grew. "M-maybe we'll c-call you that, then… since y-you're calling me A-Angel… eh?"

The man cocked his head curiously. "Call me pretty flower?"

Mathew couldn't help but laugh at that. "N-no… Sunflower."

The man murmured the word a few times beneath his breath before grinning widely. "Da! I vill be Sunflower!"

Mathew couldn't help but relax in the face of such innocence.

Could… could this man really had been covered in all that blood? Maybe he had just been part of an accident or been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Maybe he even had a home to go back to… once he remembered where that was.

* * *

Author's Note: IT'S AN UPDATE~

Alright, so I don't think I've been asked any questions, I don't really have that much to say except for that I think my writing comes across choppy, and I'M WAITING FOR THE UPDATE IN 'GIVNING IN' BY ARTIFIAL STARLIGHT! It's an awesome RusCan story, about 22 chapters in, and there's some major drama afoot! It's beautifully written, so I suggest it for any RusCan fan!

Show me love, please?


	5. Darkness Spreads

Alfred sat the darkness of his room, staring blankly at the floor with dull blue eyes. The once healthy sheen to his blonde hair was now gone, leaving the locks tangled and greasy looking. His glasses were on the bedside table, its one lens cracked.

His hands were clenched against his knees, his knuckles bloody and his fingers filthy. His person was overwhelmed with dirt and blood, stained with the stench of death.

So many emotions warred within him. In front of the force, he had showed confidence and pride – had led them into a war against the being that threatened to turn the world into one huge fuckin' bloodbath.

Even a few hours ago, he had continued to grin smugly and speak loud and clear, proud of having _his _plan defeat the lunatic monster that had murdered thousands of people and enslaved hundreds of others. They had liberated the slaves, only to watch a fair number of them die from malnutrition and torture before they could even help them. Others had cowered from them in fear and had committed suicide before anyone could rush forward to stop them.

Ivan Braginski was as much a monster in his departure as in his existence. Even now, the allied forces that had fought against him were not celebrating – they were cleaning up his mess, saving what they could and burning the rest because there honestly wasn't enough ground to bury all the people and so many of them were nameless anyhow.

The door to his room opened, momentarily bathing it in light, before it shut behind a man with sandy blonde hair, bushy brows, and piercing green eyes.

"… Alfred…" The man uttered weakly. "… We need you out there."

Alfred tilted his head toward the intruder, staring at him without recognition.

_Arthur_; the name whispered through his conscious.

He needed the man closer – not all the way over by the door where he couldn't touch him.

But Arthur needed to believe that he was strong or else he might break, too.

So he swallowed his silent screams and pushed back his yet-to-fall tears and forced himself to smile as if the world was OK, even though it felt as if he was being torn to shreds from the inside out. "Don't worry, Iggy; as a hero, I'll always be where I'm needed!" He stood to his feet, ignoring the pain that danced up his side and the grating sensation in his one leg.

He couldn't convey what he needed or else Arthur might think less of him – might lose hope in the situation.

Alfred wasn't too cocky as to think the world revolved around him – not after this mess, after all this blood and despair and loss – but he knew that the man, despite their constant arguments and disagreements, loved him as much as Alfred loved him.

And that made them dependent on each other – on their emotions for each other, on each other's moods.

Arthur stood strong enough, shoulders back and chin tilted up – but the breaking point showed brightly in his eyes, in the quivering of his lips.

He was older than Alfred by a few years, and was admittedly much more mature, but he was more fragile in his sentiments.

It was for Arthur that he opened his arms, not himself. He wanted nothing more than to break down, but he had to be strong. For the allied forces, for the survivors from Ivan's madness, _for Iggy_.

The Brit flew into his chest, face burrowed against his heart as his shoulders shook wordlessly. Small sobs could be heard as his arms wound tightly around Alfred's torso, nearly squeezing the life out of him.

And Alfred held him without letting a single tear fall, always smiling, never allowing a moment where he felt that, _maybe_, just _maybe_, this was impossible.

And then Arthur turned his head up and desperately claimed Alfred's lips, hands coming up to pull at his dirty blonde hair to bring him closer. "G-git…" The Brit growled through his tears. "If you want to bloody well comfort me, than do so as my lover. I have dozens of other people I could hug."

Alfred stared at him with wide eyes.

He had heard people say before that he couldn't read a situation, but he felt as if he was pretty sure what Arthur was saying without words in that moment.

Arthur, usually when he was initiating sex, looked down and away. Now he was meeting Alfred's gaze dead on with… _something_ in his eyes that said to Alfred that he _was_ just fine with a hug – that he _didn't_ actually care for sex at the moment.

And the mixed signals were confusing him. "What are you saying, Iggy?"

"Wanker! Throw me on that bed and bonk me." He demanded, the tears still falling.

Alfred had been around Arthur long enough to know that 'bonk' meant '_fuck_'.

It would be the release he would need – something to momentarily make him forget that the world was falling apart at the seams. To watch Arthur's face as he experienced the heavenly pleasure, to listen to him cry out and whimper and _beg_ – that would hold him over, get rid of the tension winding painfully in his shoulder blades.

Nonetheless, he paused. Arthur said he wanted it, but his body language was saying that he was being tortured.

He was torn between what he wanted, what Arthur said to do, and what he could tell Arthur really wanted.

He frowned down at the Brit. "Don't lie to me, Iggy – that only makes it worse. Why are you telling me to do something with you that you don't wanna do?"

Arthur tensed and looked down. "Make me want it." His hands clenched in Alfred's bombers jacket and shoved him backwards onto the bed. "I _do_ want this, you bloody wanker."

He straddled Alfred's waist, paused, and then sagged.

"… You don't even know what to do, Iggy…" Alfred smiled – strained and fake – and turned them onto their sides. "I'm always the one to start us out." He stood to his feet again. "C'mon! The world needs a hero!" He was at the door before Arthur lost his temper.

"Don't shame me like this, Alfred!"

The ragged voice made Alfred jerk. He looked over his shoulder back at the Brit.

His eyes widened and his breath expelled in one short _whoosh_. "… Iggy…"

The man had somehow shed out of his clothes and now sat in the middle of the bed, knees placed apart. Arthur was staring angrily at him, tears still spilling. "Get back here and shag me."

He was powerless to do anything else.

There was something he felt like he should know – something that was tickling the edge of his conscious, but he couldn't figure out what.

He stalked across the bed, eyes focused with a predatory gleam on his lover.

The beast inside of him howled appreciatively. It bared its gleaming canines possessively and growled low in its throat.

It _demanded_.

Their lips connected in a war to end all wars, tongues battling and teeth clashing. In the end, Alfred won out, collapsing Arthur onto his back and covering him with his own body heat.

There was no time to strip _– later_, maybe, when the world wasn't threatening to fall in on itself and he could actually _breathe_, but not this time – and no time for teasing words like Alfred usually enjoyed doing.

He unbuckled his pants, let his member free, and then stroked himself and Arthur in time with each other until they were both rock hard.

He bit three of his fingers, drawing blood easily between his sharp incisors. One finger entered Arthur… a second finger entered Arthur… a third finger entered Arthur…

He placed himself at the Brit's entrance, watching the man's every expression avidly, his chest shuddering at Arthur's every sound of pleasure and pain.

He entered – slowly, as slowly as Arthur demanded him to.

And then he was fucking his lover into the bed, unable to stop himself, deafened by his own heartbeat and blind to everything except Arthur's pleasure-glazed eyes and expression of beautifully agonized ecstasy.

In his heightened state, he could make out a second heartbeat from his own – _Arthur's_.

Their rapid hearts were in tune – frantic and speedy and desperate, and yet somehow with the same rhythm.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him down, putting his head to Arthur's throat.

"C-cry…" The Brit gasped out. "S-stop being s-s-such… a hero… and _cry_."

That niggling sensation of something being _off_ from earlier came back – this time with an answer as to _why_.

Arthur was doing this for him; Arthur had seen through his façade and had reached out to him.

_Arthur was trying to save him from himself_.

He shut his eyes tightly, giving himself over to the pump of his hips and the squeeze of Arthur's body around him – to the scent of tea and scones in his nose and the sound of his lover's moans and whimpers – and let the tears fall.

He didn't make a sound, only the grunts from every thrust leaving his throat, but the scalding heat of each drop had to be felt against Arthur's collarbone.

But Arthur didn't say anything.

They finished, Arthur screaming Alfred's name and Alfred whispering his harshly.

Arthur's one hand was tangled in Alfred's hair and his other gripped tightly in his bombers jacket.

Now that he thought about it, he should have at least taken that off. He was overheated now, feeling too stuffy to bask in the aftermath of his orgasm.

"You bloody git…" Arthur accused without conviction after a few minutes spent in silence. "… You couldn't even take your jeans off; now my thighs are chaffed."

And Alfred cried a little more – because it felt _good_ to feel like everything was normal. _Even if it wasn't true._

_

* * *

_Author's Note: HIYA! I was going to post this chapter tomorrow because of the draft I am currently working on, but then I talked to Artificial Starlight and that made me insanely happy and eager to post the next chapter.

Yes, sadly, there is no RusCan in this chapter. I'm sorry… Mainly, it reflects Ivan's affects after his disappearance as well as feeds my love for USUK. Yes; Ivan was _that_ bad.

Love eqvuals reviews, da~?


	6. Moralistic Value

After a few days, the storm blew over.

Short on supplies and out of firewood (as well as desperate for fresh air and eager to go out into the snow); Mathew left the cottage behind to go to the town nearest his home – about 10 miles away.

"I do not think I like snow, da~" And, of course, Sunflower had followed him out.

His vivid violet eyes focused distastefully on the mounds of white – especially where it reached up to his thighs and he had to strain his wounds to fight forward.

Mathew had to jump in places and tried to run through others, knowing there would not be any reprieve for another two miles where they would come across a road usually kept salted.

He frowned and looked back at Sunflower, "Why not, eh?"

The giant scowled at the ground, "It is cold and lifeless. I vant to be back home with the sunflower," He pouted childishly.

Mathew's heart fluttered in his chest; for years, the only people who had called the cottage home was himself; his bear had never called it by anything, only coming and going as he pleased.

"I-I told you to s-stay there…"

"But I vanted to make sure that Angel vas not harmed," Sunflower looked so earnest that Mathew's heart did more than flutter – it melted.

"No one's e-ever tried to hurt me b-before… N-not in this town. The p-people are very k-kind, eh." He smiled gently. "Besides… I-I think _I'd_ have t-to protect _you_ if anything b-bad happened."

And it was true; over the past few days, Sunflower had gotten stronger. Sometimes, he was able to walk without a limp. His wounds were sealing up quickly (_extremely_ so, Mathew had noted the last time he had checked them, feeling that niggling of suspicion yet again and that insistent instinct to get the man _out_ before anything terrible could occur), and he was happier by the hour.

Which reminded Mathew of something – they needed to get another sunflower. He wasn't sure if there was a flower shop in town (he had never looked), but he thought that, _maybe_, there could be. It was the frozen tundra – somebody might want a plant in their home to feel a bit warmer, and flower shops were usually temperature regulated to keep the plants at their healthiest… right?

He could only hope so; no amount of care could stop the sunflower he had at home from drooping, its petals sagging and eventually falling.

Sunflower had looked heartbroken when the first petal had broken off and landed on the counter the day before. If such a simple thing could cause such an expression, Matthew didn't want the man to keep watching the flower die hopelessly.

He held out hope for a flower shop as they trudged on.

He paused when he heard deep breathing behind him; looking back, Sunflower was blowing on his hands, rubbing them together with his brows furrowed and a frown on his lips.

Because his clothes (the torn remains of them, anyway; Mathew had only found him in a scarf and sweat pants) had basically been destroyed, Mathew had had to lend the giant what clothes his brother had left behind in his house.

Really, they were still a bit small on him – meaning that Mathew would have to buy him new clothes at some point. However, that thought didn't bother him too much; all he had to his name was a polar bear that needed feeding and the cottage. He didn't spend that much money, so a little excess buying for a necessity such as clothes wouldn't hurt.

He waited for Sunflower to catch up and pulled the giant's hands apart (realized that they were like twin blocks of ice and wincing at how cold Sunflower must feel), he held one in each hand, and then flipped the sleeves of his coat over them. Then he brought both sleeves together, rubbing them back and forth with their appendages snuggled warmly inside.

Sunflower watched with awed fascination. "Angel is very varm!"

He smiled sadly. "Y-yeah… I-I'm sorry I didn't h-have anything better for y-you to wear at th-the house… We'll g-get you something m-more your size in t-town, eh?"

Sunflower nodded excitedly. "Da, da!"

Mathew giggled and switched the man's hands in his so that he was still holding them even as he turned around and continued walking forward.

Sunflower was now awkwardly close to his back, but he dealt with it patiently, keeping the man's hands warm.

He looked out around the winter wonderland that was his home. "… I love the snow," He breathed in a voice soft enough that he wouldn't stutter.

"Vy?" He startled, surprised that Sunflower had heard him.

Nonetheless, he answered, "Because it's a new beginning… It's a new day everyday because you make your own path and you shape your own land, wherein fall, spring, and summer, all you can do is notice the subtle changes of nature and be no part of it. In fall, you can step on a pretty red leaf and hear the satisfying crunch, but it won't remain part of your path nor will it belong specifically to you, because dozens of other feet will trample over it and all it will do is crumble until it's nothing, eh. In spring, the rain keeps pouring down, but water just forms to whatever it has fallen into and doesn't care for what comes through. And in summer… heat isn't personal. You're no different from anyone else in summer, eh."

He looked back at Sunflower to see if he understood any of this; truthfully, it didn't seem so _persuasive_ when he put it into words, but he knew what he was talking about.

"In snow, only snow can erase what you have done – water only preserves it and heat only makes it fade away, but what you did and where you were in the snow stays until the snow is completely gone or even more snow arrives and then you can just remake your path." He smiled as Sunflower looked from the snow to him. "I just love the snow, eh."

They trekked on.

"… Angel vent a long time vithout stuttering, da~"

Mathew sputtered. "Th-that's because I-I was speaking i-in a whisper…" He spoke in a voice appropriate for conversations. "I-I only stutter w-when I have to speak up…"

"Then Angel should visper more often. Angel has a very pretty voice."

Mathew flushed red and looked up at Sunflower who giggled down at him, his chin dipping to his collarbone.

Sunflower frowned.

Mathew mirrored his expression. "What's wrong, eh?" He spoke in a whisper.

"I don't know… I feel as if I am missing something…" He took a hand from Mathew and touched his neck slowly, as if he expected to feel something other than his own skin.

Mathew paled and remembered the scarf he had so carelessly tossed in the garbage. "W-we'll g-get you a s-s-scarf… s-so you w-won't f-feel that w-way…" He made a mental note to himself to raid the trash for that tattered cloth.

If it was something Sunflower could remember at least the _sensation_ of having, than it must have been important. Heck, maybe seeing it, and feeling it again, would bring back memories.

Sunflower tilted his head curiously. "A scarf? Vy a scarf?"

Mathew couldn't answer that without hating himself, so he just shrugged wordlessly and hurried along, Sunflower's one hand still in his.

As it turned out, there _was_ a flower shop in town.

With a breath of relief, Mathew led Sunflower inside (_after_ they had finished shopping for clothes, groceries, and firewood, which would be driven to his house and left in his kitchen just off the front door by the kind store manager for free. The two miles in which there was no road would be disregarded, considering the fact that the manager had a snow plow connected to the front of his massive truck) and let the man tour the small space as he went hunting for sunflowers. A soft, lilac scarf around Sunflower's neck fluttered weakly with the man's excited explorations.

In the background, he could hear Sunflower's delight in the form of gasps and giggles.

His heart sank into his belly after he asked the store employee if there were any sunflowers, they had none.

"But I can order them." She reassured upon seeing his sorrowful expression.

"Th-that would be nice, th-thank you. H-how long would that b-be, eh?"

"Eh… We get our next shipment in a week, so… Saturday? We can call you when your order comes in."

With that said he gave her his contact information and turned back to Sunflower who had – luckily – not heard a word of their conversation as he pranced among the geraniums and wandering jews set into one corner.

He held up a blooming chrysanthemum for Mathew to see, bouncing on his heels. "It's yellow like a sunflower, Angel!"

Therefore, Mathew bought the chrysanthemum in temporary place of the sunflowers, and led his overly large charge out of the store.

Sunflower tangled a hand with his, swinging their arms back and forth between them. "Ve go home now, da?"

Mathew made a sound of agreement and nodded.

"Yay~"

They went back to the cottage, via the track in the snow the store manager must have left with his snowplow.

Mathew noted to himself to leave the manager a tip for how difficult it must have been, even with the plow; the walls of snow shoved aside were taller than Sunflower and that unnerved him in a way.

Sunflower was pulling and pushing awkwardly at his new scarf, even though he kept smiling.

"Do you not like it, eh?" Mathew spoke softly again.

"HeT." _Again_, how could Sunflower not remember _anything_ if he could remember a word like _that_? What language was that anyway? "It is just very… scratchy."

Mathew frowned, pushing aside the odd thought of the foreign word to brush his fingers along the tail of the scarf; it felt soft to him, almost fluffy.

He thought of the scarf he had thrown away; maybe it was less about there just being a scarf, but also about its moral value? Even if it had been worn and torn, Mathew had still been able to make out that it had been handmade.

He felt even worse than when he had first realized; throwing that scarf away had been a bad idea. Hopefully he could dig it out of the garbage, give it a good wash, and then give it back with an apology and have Sunflower be happy.

His hopes were dashed when he arrived home and a note on the door – from the store manager – said that he had taken Mathew's garbage back to town to throw away so he wouldn't have to worry about it.

Damn it… Just damn it.

"Is Angel alright?" Sunflower was frowning, eyes deeply troubled.

Then Mathew realized what he himself must have looked like – like someone had just run over his polar bear, perhaps.

He kind of felt like that.

"I-I'm okay… Really." He ruffled the man's hair affectionately. "L-Let's get inside, eh?"

Sunflower didn't seem to believe him, but went inside nonetheless.

Mathew urged him to go change while he did… _something_.

When Sunflower was out of sight, he was instantly in his closet, searching for the sewing kit he hardly ever used.

He found, much to his delight, bright yellow yarn and knitting sticks. He also found burnt brown yarn and purple yarn.

And so he put it all to the side, hidden from Sunflower as he came bounding out of the bedroom wearing comfortable blue jeans and a simple, white sweater. The scarf was missing, but there was a rash around Sunflower's throat that suggested he hadn't been lying when he had said that the material had been itchy; Mathew silently hoped that his yarn wouldn't be the same way.

"H-hungry?"

"Da!"

Sunflower helped him put the groceries away and fire up the stove and fireplace before he set about making lunch.

"Aaaahh… Angel is a very good cook!" Sunflower was at Mathew's side, watching him throw vegetables into the stew he was boiling as if it was the greatest fete he had ever seen accomplished. "It smells so good!"

Mathew blushed at the compliment. "T-thank you…" He shooed the overgrown child to the kitchen table, putting the soup into three different bowels.

Even though his bear didn't talk much, Sunflower spoke animatedly with him, telling him everything from walking through the waist-high snow to what had occurred in town to walking back home. Kumakiro … Kumachino… Kuma… something… - _his bear_ appeared to simply ignore Sunflower, staring expectantly at Mathew.

Once the food was on the table, his bear was contently stuffing his face, not only with the soup, but also with the three fish Mathew had added to his bowl.

Sunflower went on to question what they would do after lunch and then what they would do tomorrow.

Mathew felt _happy_… Truly, _truly_ happy, for the first time in a very long time.

He had a family of his own, true… but they forgot him often or confused him with his brother, Alfred. Besides – they hadn't contacted him in nearly a year now and every attempt he had made was met with silence.

He frowned at the thought; for all he knew, they could be dead. It wasn't rare for him to be forgotten or overlooked, but now he was just being outright _ignored_.

"Aaaah~! Is Angel okay?" Sunflower was leaning forward in his chair, pouting deeply.

Mathew realized that there were tears in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly and forced a quivering smile. "Y-yes… I-I'm okay…"

Sunflower sunk back into his seat, his expression unreadable as he stared at his empty bowel. "… Vy is Angel lying to me?"

Mathew flinched at his dead tone. He wanted to deny that he was lying, but really, there was no point to it. Instead, he sighed and gave in, speaking in a low, low voice. "I haven't spoken to my family in almost a year now… I was just wondering if they were okay, eh. I'm worried for them…"

"Angel is close to his family, da?"

"… Yes…"

"Vat does a family feel like?" Sunflower was leaning forward again, watching Mathew like a child would a storyteller.

And Mathew remembered, not for the first time, that Sunflower had no recollection of his past; if he had a family, he wouldn't remember. If he had a good past, a bad past – _a bloody past_ – he wouldn't know.

So he opened his mouth and told Sunflower everything about his family.

He talked about how he had had two fathers and had never known a mother (he had been adopted), one Francis, and the other Arthur. He spoke about his twin brother, Alfred (who he somehow kept getting confused with despite the fact that he didn't honestly think they looked anything alike and they most certainly didn't _act_ anything alike); he went on about them all until his voice cracked.

Even then, Sunflower wanted to hear more! He went and got Mathew a glass of water, sat back down to where they had regrouped in the living room before the fireplace, and held Mathew's bear to his chest like a stuffed pillow, chin resting on the bear's head as he waited eagerly to hear more.

So, when he ran out of stories about his family, or at least the stories that wouldn't scare Sunflower. He couldn't tell him about how his papa, Francis, was a succubus, or how his father, Arthur, had been a warlock, or even that his brother was – oddly enough – a werewolf, he went on about his friends – or at least the people he knew.

Sunflower was in awe of him, eyes growing wider with every story; some made him laugh, like the story of when Gilbert had been knocked out by a wayward frying pan; some made him blush like the story of when Mathew had walked in on Ludwig and Feliciano, two of his friends, making out in his closet during a get-together.

Mathew was certain he saw Sunflower look to said closet as if it suddenly withheld a monster.

Before he knew it, the sun was down and it was time for dinner.

He finished that up quickly and then cleaned up after them, telling Sunflower to head to bed; he had something he needed to do.

Once he was sure the giant was sleeping, he took out the yarn and began the tiring job of making a scarf.

His skills were a bit rusty, but he quickly remembered the ways and the special weaving patterns.

By three in the morning, he was a fourth of the way done; he had to stop himself, though. He was starting to mess up his knitting, his eyes getting too heavy and his fingers too clumsy to continue working.

He hid the project once more and stumbled into the bedroom.

For one reason or another, he and Sunflower had no troubles sharing the same bed. Mathew would have thought he'd feel threatened to be so close to such an intimidating man – but, really, Sunflower was nothing but an overgrown kid.

He nuzzled into Sunflower's side, releasing a sigh of relief as he did so. The man was a heater and it was a cold night…

Sunflower turned in his sleep and wrapped Mathew up in his arms, snoring softly as he did so.

Mathew smiled and snuggled down, knowing that he wouldn't get to sleep that long, but happy for the reprieve nonetheless.

* * *

Author's Note: ARTIFICIAL STARLIGHT BETA'D THIS FOR ME! She. Is. _Awesome_.

Any questions?


	7. Lost Reality

_Blood, blood everywhere… _

_It bathed his hands in scarlet pools and he licked his palms clean, giggling inanely as the metallic taste laid thickly on his tongue in a purely pleasant way. _

_Their screams were a symphony to his ears and their begging made his heart lighter. He demanded that they love him, that they hug him and listen to his every whim._

_And they did._

_But as time went by, it wasn't good enough; they were only faking it to please him. To hide from his wrath. _

_So he killed them. He wanted love, not fear. So he killed them all._

_He would start over. He would cleanse the world of everyone who hated and he would begin his own family – one where everyone was loved, him most of all. _

_And that wish had led him to this moment – this moment where he sat upon a throne of decaying carcasses, watching as hell was born on the earth's surface and his many subordinates rushed about to save their own necks by slitting others. There were fires too strong for the acid rain to conquer, so much fire that the sky turned red and the clouds thickened angrily. _

_Bodies, bodies everywhere…_

_They were piled so thickly that he had decided to have fun with it and had formed the corpses into paths just so they could be walked on – they were made of those people he had felt most insulted by. _

_There were dips in the ground where the pools of blood could not be drained into the soil and so formed baths in which even more bodies floated. _

_And there was no snow – that hateful, disgusting white substance that chilled him so deeply and brought him nothing but pain –_

"… _I love the snow…" _

"_Because it's a new beginning… It's a new day everyday because you make your own path and you shape your own land, wherein fall, spring, and summer, all you can do is notice the subtle changes of nature and be no part of it. In fall, you can step on a pretty red leaf and hear the satisfying crunch, but it won't remain part of your path nor will it belong specifically to you because dozens of other feet will trample over it and all it will do is crumble until it's nothing, eh. In spring, the rain keeps pouring down, but water just forms to whatever it has fallen into and doesn't care for what comes through. And in summer… heat isn't personal. You're no different from anyone else in summer, eh." _

"_In snow, only snow can erase what you have done – water only preserves it and heat only makes it fade away, but what you did and where you were in the snow stays until the snow is completely gone or even more snow arrives and then you can just remake your path." _

"_I just love the snow, eh."_

_And the scene before him changed; there were no bloodbaths, there were no fires, and there was not an endless sea of carcasses._

_There was only one defiled corpse set before him, staring up at him with watery, lifeless, cerulean blue eyes as if begging to know __**why**__. _

Sunflower screamed as he sat up in the bed, slapping his hands along his torso, wiping away at - … wait… what _was_ he doing?

He panted as he stared at his hands.

For some reason, he felt dirty – like he was tainted. He had just been dreaming, right? What had he been dreaming about?

Beside him, Angel had flinched at the sudden noise and now sat up, rubbing at sleepy eyes.

Sunflower couldn't bring himself to look at him; he didn't know why, he just knew he couldn't do it – something _bad_ would happen if he did.

Instead, he stared at his hands, wondering why he felt they were stained when they were so very clean after his angel had told him to wash up.

"Sunflower…?" His angel murmured softly and leaned against his side.

Sunflower turned toward Angel and wrapped him in his arms, pulling him close as he felt tears well in his eyes, threatening to fall.

His angel's arms hesitantly wound around him. "A-are you okay? D-did you have a n-nightmare, eh?"

Did he have a nightmare? The more he tried to remember, the less he could recall. A headache began to pound away in his skull, demanding that he stop trying to force himself. "I can't remember…" He admitted after a while. "Can you still hold me?" He didn't want to let go.

His angel nodded against his shoulder and began rocking them back and forth. He sang a soft lullaby that tugged at his eyelids, urging him to fall asleep once more.

But he was afraid to; he didn't know why, but he _was_.

He laid back down slowly, not sure if he wanted to go through with this. His angel followed him and, after some time, they were side by side on the bed once more, Angel's voice slipping away into a drowsy slur that was hardly coherent.

Sunflower curled around him and held him close as if he were a teddy bear.

Not until the sun was high and his Angel woke up did he dare even loosen his grip.

* * *

Author's Note: Alright then! We had a fair number of questions from the last chapter and a few different things were pointed out to me!

Candy12110 pointed out that a _succubus_ is female – meaning that I screwed up in the last chapter and that Francis is an _incubus_, which is the correct term for the male equivalent to a succubus. Sorry!

I also had someone ask how Mathew could not know of the war – good question, VampireprincessofBlood! That actually gets explained a little later, so I'm just going to leave that blank for now.

Mudkiprox brought up something interesting – that Arthur is Mathew's dad as well as Alfred's lover. Well, I have an answer for that! That is what you call a major screw-up because I never actually thought about it and was blinded by trying to keep my favorite pairings _and_ trying to keep the characters as they were in Hetalia aside from the whole supernatural part. SO, we are going to say that this has occurred because Mathew and Alfred are adopted! Meaning that Alfred is not banging his blood-related father.

THANK YOU ALL!


	8. Bonfires and Marshmallows

"I'm so fuckin' awesome." Gilbert, the albino demon, stood before the bonfire he had created with misplaced smugness.

A few feet behind him, his brother – Ludwig, a tallish, muscular man with ice blue eyes and slicked back bleach-blonde hair – glowered at his back. "Bruder!" He growled in a German-toned voice. "What are you_ doing_?"

"You shouldn't yell, bro, that's totally unawesome." Gilbert scowled at him, his scarlet red eyes demeaning.

"We stopped burning the bodies two days ago!" His brother hissed.

"So?"

"What are you doing _now_?"

"Makin' marshmallows!" He held up the bag of fluffy sugary goodness in one hand, a twig in the other. "Damn, what's your problem?"

His brother was staring at him as if he were insane. "At a time like this?"

"… Yeah." Gilbert looked at his brother as if _he_ were insane. "It's the awesome-est time for it!" He put one of the marshmallows on a twig and put it into the fire that roared three feet taller than himself.

"_Why_?"

"'Cause I wanted fuckin' marshmallows! Damn, bro, you're being so unawesome right now! What? You want some, too?"

Ludwig looked more as if he wanted to murder Gilbert, but another voice intruded before he could decide whether or not to follow through with it.

"Ve~ I smell marshmallows!" Feliciano – a small brunette shape shifter with caramel eyes and an airy grin – breezed onto the scene, twig already in hand as he stole a marshmallow from Gilbert's bag and roasted it. "It's good to have times like these whenever everything else seems to be falling apart~!"

Ludwig paused at those words. In a way, they made sense; even if Feliciano said them in that usual tone which suggested dimwittedness even when he spoke wisely.

Feliciano looked over his shoulder at him, the purplish bags under his eyes saying how tired he was – how _pale_ he was speaking of how much this all tolled on him. He was such a small boy that needed protection… He couldn't fight for himself – he always gave in.

"Ludwig, come eat marshmallows with us, ve~!" Feliciano offered him a twig (where he got it from, who knew) and a marshmallow.

"Yeah, bro! Join the awesome me and your boy toy!" Gilbert chuckled, a 'kesesese' that usually sent a shiver up the listener's spine.

Ludwig, not looking at the marshmallow, his brother, or the fire, but staring at _Feliciano_, hesitantly came forward. "Fine."

"Yay~" Feliciano offered him the twig and grinned happily up at him. "Let's relax, Ludwig!"

Ludwig wouldn't go _that_ far…

But he could take a moment to roast a marshmallow… if that's what Feliciano really wanted.

Now being ignored, Gilbert stared into the crackling flames, feeling again that odd sense of having forgotten something – which was so totally un-awesome; someone as awesome as him remembered everything important… or had someone to remember that shit for him, whichever suited his awesome nature best.

The more he tried to remember _what_, exactly, he was forgetting, the less he was certain that he had forgotten anything at all. The only thing that remained was, for some reason or another, a sunflower.

He remembered, just vaguely, a sunflower.

_How unawesome_.

* * *

Author's Note: Is that Gilbert randomly appearing in my story with marshmallows? … Yes, yes that is.

THIS CHAPTER WAS CHECKED BY ARTIFICIAL STARLIGHT! Please bow to her awesomeness.

Do I get any love?


	9. To Fear Oneself

Next week rolled around faster than Mathew had expected it to.

Then again, Mathew could hardly keep track of time – there was no time to look at the time because Sunflower always needed his constant attention and supervision.

Sunflower wanted to be a part of his life every moment of the day and night. And being such a bundle of energy, he usually succeeded in doing so, if not exhausting Mathew to the point where they would just curl up wherever they were and take a short nap before waking up and repeating it all over again.

Mathew _loved_ it. Sunflower was just… everything he hadn't realized he had wanted. Sunflower saw him, spoke to him, and _never_ forgot him. Sunflower wanted to go with him everywhere, wanted to talk to him about everything, and always, _always_ made Mathew feel… Unique. Loved. _There_.

By the time next week rolled around, Mathew no longer cared to question the blood that had been on Sunflower when he had first found him. Perhaps that was selfish of him, to not consider his own safety or that of the nearby town just so he could have some company, but the instinct that had been born at Sunflower's arrival had died out and the suspicion just couldn't sway his judgment anymore.

Sunflower could in no way be a killer. He was too sweet, too gentle, too curious… Even if he couldn't remember anything, wouldn't he still have that killer urge _had_ he been a killer?

Sunflower couldn't even swat a fly – and Mathew meant that literally because he had watched Sunflower try but his aim had been purposefully dreadful and he had ended up starting a conversation with the insect.

Mathew was growing more excited to reward Sunflower for how… well, _cute_ he was! There were times when Mathew wanted to drag the larger man into a hug and times when he wanted to shower him with gifts. But he knew that neither was going to count more than his project.

Sunflower had abandoned the first scarf Mathew had given him, but he hadn't stopped touching his neck and frowning as if he knew something was missing. Instead of the guilt Mathew had first felt; he now felt growing elation. He was getting anxious to finish the project so he could give it to Sunflower and maybe see him give that excited-as-a-child-on-Christmas smile.

Yet that didn't seem possible anytime soon. No matter how much time he put aside for the project, the time was stolen away.

The nightmares were becoming more frequent. The strangest part of it, though, was that Sunflower could never recall after waking up whether or not he had had a nightmare to begin with. He would just stare at his hands as if he felt something should be there or run into the bathroom and run the shower at such a scalding hot temperature that steam would slip beneath the door and Mathew would have to run in to turn it down.

After awhile, Mathew began to realize that the nightmares were taking a larger toll on Sunflower than he had first thought. Now the childish man had grown immense fears of… well, just about everything.

He hated the dark, for one. Another blackout had occurred some nights before and Sunflower had actually begun _crying_. He had grabbed onto Mathew for dear life, shivering, and had whined for Mathew to protect him. Mathew had held a whimpering Sunflower in his arms until the storm had blown over and then had gone outside to fix the power (Sunflower holding his one hand in a death grip the entire way).

Another incident had been when Mathew had been cutting lettuce and had accidentally sliced his finger open. Sunflower had looked over, saw the blood, paled to ghost white, and had run into the bathroom where the sound of vomiting had soon to be heard.

Mathew was afraid for Sunflower. Truly, he was.

He waited for him at the front door, already dressed to go to town. He frowned as Sunflower didn't immediately come bounding down the hall.

For the past week, Sunflower had been openly thrilled for just this day; the day their order of sunflowers came in. From waking to bedtime, Sunflower had stared avidly at the phone, waiting impatiently for the call.

Now that the call had come, Sunflower wasn't there?

Mathew's fear grew.

"S-Sunflower?" He went back to the bedroom. Not 10 minutes ago, he could have sworn he had heard Sunflower giggling. "A-Are you okay, eh?" He peeked in through the door. "S-Sunflower!"

The large man had curled up on the floor, hands clenched in his white-blonde hair as he hit his skull against the floor.

"A-Angel… My head h-hurts…" Sunflower looked at him with teary violet eyes. "T-there's… There's somevone _talking_ t-to me… A-Angel, I'm scared…"

Mathew dropped to his knees and rested Sunflower's head on his lap, stroking his white-blonde hair gently. "Y-You're okay… D-Don't worr-worry, you're ok-kay…" He pressed a kiss to Sunflower's temple. "T-Tell the voice it's n-not welcome… You c-can do it… Don't g-give me that 'I c-can't' look, you can d-do it, eh."

Sunflower shut his eyes, shivering all over. "Vil Angel sing me a-a lullaby?"

Mathew, after a moment, nodded. He lowered his mouth near to Sunflower's ear and sang a soft French lullaby of making the monsters go away. His soft, whispery voice wove the tunes and tones together into one beautiful rhythm that sank into the heart and bones and warmed the skin.

He sang it three times before Sunflower uncurled himself and wiped away the tears. Sunflower smiled weakly up at him. "The voice is gone."

Mathew tried to return the smile to the best of his ability, but he could feel how strained it was. _What voice_? "D-Do you want to postpone th-the sunflower ex-expedition?"

He blinked at his suddenly empty lap. A moment later, he was staring blankly at a speedily disappearing cottage, watching it move farther and farther away from Sunflower's shoulder, numbly aware of something digging into his belly.

They were halfway there before he realized that Sunflower was running full-speed, carrying him in a fireman's hold.

"EH! S-Sunflower! Put me down!"

A good twenty minutes later, Mathew stumbled into the flower shop, Sunflower's hand in his as the excited man dragged him in among the colorful and foreign plants.

Mathew tugged on Sunflower's arm before the giant could rush the counter and the unfamiliar boy behind it.

"E-eh… Are you okay now?"

The man frowned down at him, a hint of pain and fear in his eyes. "I… I do not vant the voice to come back. But I am okay now, da!" The frown was replaced with a bright smile. "My angel saved me."

Mathew flushed a little. "I-I didn't! You s-saved yourself, eh! I-I just helped…" He was folded into a warm, comfortable hug.

"HeT. My angel saved me." Sunflower's innocently stubborn voice made all of Mathew's resistance fade away.

He hugged back. "O-Okay… N-now let's get the sunf-flowers, eh?"

"Yay~" Sunflower lifted him off his feet and continued his run to the counter, despite it being only feet away. He came to an abrupt halt right before running into the cash register, making the employee behind it flinch and stumble backwards in the case of a crash. "Sunflowers!" He demanded.

"N-no, that's not h-how you do it, Sunf-f-flower…" Mathew managed to get the man's arms to loosen enough for him to turn around and face the concerned employee.

He put forward their contact information and their order form and the boy disappeared into what might have been a room in the back.

Mathew gaped when he realized there was a greenhouse attached to the shop. He should have at least noticed _that_! How long had he lived here?

He felt shame coil in his gut. What else didn't he know about this town? Than again, his needs were pretty basic and he had never considered flowers a need… He took hold of that reason and held tight; anyone could have missed a greenhouse in their own town if they weren't looking for it… Right?

The boy returned with three large pots, each with one tall sunflower in them.

He set them down on the counter, typed away at the cash register, and then announced the price. Mathew paid and they left, Sunflower with two of the pots (by his own wish) and Mathew with the last.

Hopefully, the sunflowers wouldn't wither on their way home. Mathew was actually debating whether or not they should get a ride from the market store manager when Sunflower went still, fear widening his eyes.

Mathew, a few steps behind Sunflower and lost in his own thoughts, walked into Sunflower's back before realizing the other's pause. "S-Sunflower?" He peeked around the giant. His eyes widened in realization. "… O-oh…"

One of the children must have decided to make a snowman; considering its appearance however, it appeared more to be along the likes of a teenager's. The three rounded spheres of snow were unoriginal, but the fangs fashioned in the makeshift mouth on the top sphere as well as the cherries for eyes, the two twigs atop most likely meant to mimic curling horns, were definitely new.

Sunflower was backpedaling away from the harmless creation, whimpering somewhat as his eyes narrowed in pain and his arms squeezed around the sunflower pots until a spider web crack formed in one clay container and the other shattered completely.

"S-Sunflower!" Mathew set his own pot down before going to comfort the man. "It's n-not going to h-hurt you, eh… I-It's harmless…" He offered a silent sorry to whoever had made the snowman as he walked over and took the top snowball off and crumbled it between his hands. "See?" Now all that was left was a decapitated snowman. There was nothing vaguely creepy about it now, only leaving behind an air of incompleteness.

Sunflower nodded slowly, still ghastly pale.

Mathew frowned. The blank story that was Sunflower was becoming more and more intense the more pages he flipped.

The nightmares, the headaches, what had happened earlier, and what was happening now. There was a war going on in Sunflower's head and for the life of him, Mathew couldn't figure out how to help.

That age-old suspicion returned. _Maybe he's not innocent_. Maybe he wasn't. Than again… Even if he wasn't innocent, even if all that blood that had covered him those weeks ago had fallen at his wish, he didn't remember it. There was too much panic in his eyes and he was still clutching onto the sunflowers (the stems now because both pots had broken and fallen off of the roots) as if they could protect him.

_Even if he isn't innocent, whatever he's guilty of he can't remember. And whatever it is he's trying to remember, it scares him_.

With sudden shock, Mathew realized that _Sunflower was scared of himself_.

He silently picked up his own pot and continued wordlessly on home. Sunflower was instantly at his side, pressing close to him with his eyes squeezed shut as he murmured the French lullaby Mathew had sang earlier to himself. He couldn't remember half the words, he mispronounced most of the others, and he stumbled over everything else.

Mathew rested his head against Sunflower's upper arm, whispering the lullaby loud enough for Sunflower to hear. It was awkward walking like that, but Sunflower soon calmed down and finally seemed to realize that his sunflowers weren't potted.

They paused long enough to pot the two sunflowers temporarily into Mathew's container before Ivan lifted the entire thing and speeded home, Mathew having to run after him.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I am posting two chapters in one day. Why? Because my awesome beta, artificial starlight, had already gone over this chapter _and_ because it's been awhile since my last post.

The mystery that is Ivan is showing itself to Mathew.


	10. And the Shield Cracks

He was giggling as Sunflower tried to lick off the pancake mix on his nose; Mathew brought out the napkins and wiped it off for him.

Sunflower smiled gratefully down at him. "Making pancakes is fun, da~!" He continued to beat the batter with unnecessary force, splattering the dough across the white apron he wore as well as all along the counter; yet there was no stopping him when he looked so amazingly happy.

At the kitchen table, the sunflowers glowered in the morning light pouring in from the window.

His bear – _Kumajirou_, he could remember now because Sunflower had somehow learned it and repeated it endlessly trying to get a reaction from the bear – had even come to accept Sunflower as part of the package, trotting into the kitchen and taking his seat at the table, waiting without words for breakfast to be served.

"Good morning, Kumajirou~!" Sunflower greeted the bear.

Kumajirou only grunted in reply, lying his head down on the table.

Both Mathew and Sunflower giggled at the show of laziness.

Mathew bumped hips with Sunflower. "Take a seat, eh." He spoke softly. "I can finish up here."

Sunflower nodded animatedly and dutifully set the table and put away the apron before doing as ordered, plopping down next to his bear and asking how the cub felt.

Mathew listened to it as background noise, flipping the pancakes on the stove.

He filled the plates with five pancakes each (hey, pancakes were the _best_), before setting the dirtied dishes in the sink.

Just as he was about to sit down, Kuma-… _maple_, he forgot his name again – _his bear_'s head shot up and his nose twitched with interest.

A moment later, there was a loud, confident knock at his door. "HEY, MATTIE, GUESS WHAT? The awesome me has decided to visit you!"

Mathew stood back up. "G-Gilbert?"

He put a hand on Sunflower's shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his palm. They had never gotten guests before – there was visible apprehension written across the giant's face. He smiled reassuringly when he had Ivan's attention. "No worries, eh?" He ruffled Sunflower's hair before answering the door.

His smile disappeared. "_M-maple_… G-Gilbert, you look like y-you've been at w-war, eh…"

And he did too; there was soot smeared across one cheek, blood across the other. His fine white hair was tangled and matted with red and brown and his clothes were in tattered disarray.

Gilbert frowned at him. "Yeah… That's kinda where I just was… at war, which was so totally unawesome 'cause we're not even fighting anymore, we're just cleaning up a _huge_ mess."

Mathew paled. "There _was_ a _war_?" He choked out.

"Yeah! Your brother was gonna come tell you, but I guess that little shit got distracted or somethin'."

"H-how long ago?"

"Eh, it ended about a month ago –"

"_No_, how long ago did it _begin_?" His voice was too shrill for him to stutter. His shock was too great.

He had been in his cottage, twiddling his thumbs, thinking that his family was _dead_… and really there had been a war happening? Shouldn't they show such things like war on TV?

Maybe, considering the fact that Gilbert and Alfred of all people were fighting in it, it had been a war to hide from the media (somehow), and that's why he had never heard of it from the news. Or maybe he had but he just hadn't connected it with his family.

"Eh, 'bout a year ago… You're serious? You had no clue there was a war goin' on?."

Mathew felt weak in the knees. "W-why did the war start? Wh-what was it called?" Tears were threatening to fall. "I-Is everyone okay? Wh-who died?"

"Whoa! One question at a time and the awesome me shall answer them!" Gilbert pushed past him into his home. "So this insane dude, _Ivan Braginski_, decided that it would be totally awesome to start a war _just_ to have a family, right? So he killed a lot of people who didn't deserve to die and enslaved a lot of other people 'cause I guess he felt lonely. So we called the war '_Loveless War'_. And don't worry, everyone's totally awesome – not as awesome as _me_, but, yeah, we didn't lose that many people, not anyone that you knew, anyw-…" Gilbert stopped his tirade, his back to the kitchen and his nose twitching.

"… Mattie… get the hell out of the house." Gilbert's voice sounded unusually tight.

Mathew frowned. "What? Why?"

"I can smell that unawesome Ivan dude here." Gilbert cursed beneath his breath. "_Damn it_, I knew we should have killed him instead of just leaving him in the snow."

Mathew's heart dropped to his ankles and he stared with dawning realization at Gilbert.

Gilbert said he could smell Ivan in the house – no one was here except him, his bear, and Sunflower. Gilbert said that they had left Ivan out in the snow to die – Mathew found Sunflower dying in the snow.

He looked past Gilbert to Sunflower who stared curiously back at them.

At the mention of a man who had started a bloody war, however, Sunflower…

Sunflower showed his cowardice side. "Aaaah! Really? I don't vant to die, Angel!" Sunflower dashed around Gilbert and hid behind Mathew. "You'll protect me from Ivan, da?"

Mathew's fears were confirmed when Gilbert stared at Sunflower with both growing rage and rising horror. "What the _fuck_ is Ivan Braginski doing here?"

"Aaaah! Ver?" Sunflower shook behind Mathew, whimpering somewhat as he dropped to his knees for better shelter.

"G-Gilbert…" He paused, knowing what he was about to do and startled by it – he was about to _defend_ a mass murderer that had begun a war.

…

…

No he wasn't; he was about to defend _Sunflower_, who sniffled pathetically whenever his precious blooms died and couldn't stand up to the dark or demonic looking snowmen.

"He c-can't remember a-anything! H-he honestly doesn't know who I-Ivan is!"

"Listen, Mattie, he's lyin' to you, kay? Let the awesome me take care of it – just go to your room, pretend nothing's happenin' and I'll take care of that little unawesome son of a bitch using you as a human shield."

"N-no!" He spread his arms out to further barricade Sunflower… Ivan…

_Murderer_.

Not Sunflower – Sunflower was no killer. Sunflower was innocently delightful. _Ivan_ was a murderer. _Ivan Braginski_ who had started a war. Yet… they were the same person – one was with memories and the other without.

The confusion was strangling his heart, but he just somehow knew that he couldn't let this happen.

"I-I'm not going to let you hurt him!"

Gilbert cursed beneath his breath. "Sorry, Mattie, but I can't let him live." With that said, he grabbed Mathew by the throat, lifting him bodily off the floor, and threw him down the hall – the greatest mercy of his being that he didn't throw him into a wall instead.

Sunflower's eyes widened at the assault, fear quickly melting into rage. "How dare you…" He growled, standing to his full overbearing height. "hurt Angel like that…"

Gilbert paused for a moment, eyes narrowing somewhat. "You're not actin' like that sick son of a bitch…" He shrugged. "Too bad; what's unawesome is unawesome and you are _seriously_ unawesome."

He didn't get to take another step towards Sunflower.

A force made of sinewy muscles and pristine white fur barreled down the hall, roaring so loudly, the cottage seemed to shake.

The beast overcame Gilbert, rushing him into a wall and holding him there with two large paws.

For the first time since finding Sunflower, Mathew had taken on his second form. .

Now he took full advantage of his animalistic side, full advantage of being so large and so very deadly with claws and fangs, and tried to bodily haul Gilbert out the still open door.

Gilbert looked up at him with betrayal before that switched to a sneer. "Fine! You wanna be unawesome like that!"

They clashed with bone-chattering force.

And while they fought each other, Sunflower fought to retain his sanity.

He pushed himself into a corner of the room, his heart catching in his throat as blood and fur flew, as Angel – _or was it Angel_? - as the largest beast he had ever seen was brutally assaulted and in turn violently attacked the stranger – this _Gilbert_.

A part of him screamed for him to go help Angel – man or… polar bear – and save him! Save his precious angel from the scarlet-eyed demon with jagged teeth and dirty white hair.

But he was locked in place. Angel's name was on the tip of his tongue, he wanted nothing more than to cry out, but he was terrified. What if he distracted his angel?

The more cowardly thought attached firmly to his limbs was _what if he drew attention to himself_?

Kumajirou released his own roar and leaped into the fray, attacking what he could reach of Gilbert with a ferocity that should not belong to such a small, lazy animal.

Gilbert now temporarily forced onto his back by the tiny fury was enough of a distraction that his angel spun on his back paws and wrapped his muzzle around the sleeve of his sweater, pulling him towards the wide open door with his coat hanging next to it and his boots at the ready.

Despite the change of… appearance, it was cerulean blue eyes that stared desperately at him and demanded without words that he _get out before he got hurt_. A small grunt accompanied the silent plea and then his angel was speeding back towards the now risen Gilbert with a battle cry strong enough to shake the house.

Without much thought he was in his coat and his boots and was 12 feet from the cottage before he… just stopped. His hands clenched at his sides.

_Angel had never left him to fend for himself._

_Angel always had unending patience for him._

_Angel was willing to die for him._

He raced back into the house.

Gilbert had his angel to the floor, hands tight around his furry white throat and squeezing with only the slightest bit of regret in his scarlet eyes.

Kumajirou was some distance away, unconscious and on his side – luckily still breathing.

Sunflower set sail a punch that he _thought_ would do little good against a man who was capable of holding down such a massive bear.

Gilbert flew the length of the hall before his back created a large dent in the wall. He collapsed to the ground and then just _laid there_.

Blood trickled from the albino's head from beneath his fall of white hair – somewhere around the spot where Sunflower's fist had connected.

Sunflower looked from Gilbert to his still clenched fist. Had… had he done that? Was he _that_ strong?

Was he… the Ivan Braginski that Gilbert said started a war?

It was as if axes and drills went off in his head, driving painfully into his brain until his vision grayed around the edges.

He clutched at his skull, stumbling on his feet until his shoulder connected with the wall and leaned there. He whimpered. "A-Angel… M-my head…"

_And that voice_. He could hear that strangely familiar and yet utterly terrifying voice in the back of his mind, demanding to be remembered. _Blood, blood everywhere…_

He could just barely make out through his hazy vision his angel picking up Kumajirou in his mouth before turning to him.

His angel's shoulder grazed him lightly before he bent down somewhat, a clear sign for what he wanted Sunflower to do.

In too much pain to do anything else, he fell across Angel's strong, soft shoulders and tangled one hand into his fur.

Angel began running, running, and running until the cottage was far out of sight and Sunflower's vision went _black_.

* * *

Author's Note: Did you guys miss me? Alright, so, yeah… this chapter is badly written and I'm sorry for that. However! We now face the true dilemma! And there was a question answered – many were wondering what Mathew was; Ivan answered that.

And yet more drama to come!


	11. Once Lost, Now Found

Mathew found the cavern he had long thought lost amongst the snowdrifts in a surprisingly short time… well, a surprisingly short time for something he thought _lost_.

He gently put Kumajirou down and then slid Sunflower carefully from his shoulders.

He stared at the man.

_He is… a man that started a supernatural war? _

It explained many things – such as the strength he had showed during his fever, his ability to live through such terrible wounds, how quickly he had healed…

It explained _all that blood_.

His heart felt sick, but for all the wrong reasons.

He didn't know Ivan Braginski. He only knew Sunflower and Sunflower had staved off his long-lasting loneliness with his bright aura and endless curiosity, his never ending energy and naïve fears.

His heart felt sick because he would never be able to finish that scarf and give it to Sunflower, to see his expression light up with childish joy.

His heart felt sick because all those sunflowers back at his cottage would die without proper care and when they got back – _if_ they got back – it would be to see many sunflower corpses throughout the house and that would make Sunflower sad.

His heart felt sick with the knowledge that Sunflower was not going to know the joy he had known just minutes before for possibly a very long time – possibly never again.

It was one thing to run from Gilbert; once Gilbert told whoever else had been part of the war, once he told _Alfred_, there would be no force on earth that Mathew could conjure up to save the man before him.

_He came back for me_.

Yes, that was true. Sunflower had left, but he had returned and he had saved them both.

"_So he killed a lot of people who didn't deserve to die, enslaved a lot of other people 'cause I guess he felt lonely. So we called the war the __**'Loveless War'**__."_

Mathew curled around Sunflower, resting his sloping head on Sunflower's chest.

He…

He loved Sunflower. He didn't know in _what way_, but he knew he loved him. Whether it was how a parent felt for a child, how a friend felt for a friend, how _lovers_ felt for each other…

He loved Sunflower. So he wasn't loveless anymore.

He nudged Kumajirou's body closer to them, plopping him down gently between his and Sunflower's body.

He settled in for a long night, knowing that if he lost consciousness, he would change back.

And that would be _bad_ because then he would be _naked_ and it wasn't that warm in the cave. Warm enough, but not _that_ warm.

He sighed deeply, aware of every gash on his body, every hurting bit of flesh, and his sore throat.

Later, he would hunt for them.

And then… maybe… maybe he would go back to the cottage and, if nothing else, get some clothes, some supplies…

And his project.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

_Blood, blood everywhere…_

And that blood remained even as he woke up.

He sat up, rotating his shoulders to work out the kinks.

He lifted one hand and stared at it until each nail lengthened into claws sharper than blades, tough enough to bite through bone and steel.

He derived no pleasure from it. He derived no enjoyment from knowing that he could easily kill someone, that he was fully healed and could take revenge on those that had tried to murder him.

He looked down.

Kumajirou was still unconscious, resting near his hip.

And his angel…

His angel had blue lips and was shivering erratically, his naked body paler than it should be.

He had fallen asleep – a bad idea for shapeshifters, they couldn't retain their shape in an unconscious state, could they?

He dragged Angel into his lap, undoing his coat and wrapping him up in it. He rubbed his limbs for a few minutes, until the shivering subsided and his angel was limp against him, his breathing calmer and his lips with color now.

Tilting his angel's face up, he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

He remembered his angel doing so for him a night not too long ago.

"_Did you have another nightmare?" The sleepy drone of his angel's voice soothed him almost instantly._

_He turned his head to look at the drowsy blonde and opened his mouth to say 'yes', but before he could, the memory was already gone. Had he had a nightmare? He shrugged. "I don't know…"_

_Angel sat up and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, like a mother to her frightened child, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, rocking him back and forth as he had become accustomed to doing. _

"_Don't worry, eh? I'll protect you… I'm your guardian angel, after all." _

But he wasn't, was he? He couldn't protect him, not from what he had done in the past.

The allied forces would be hunting him down now, alerted by Gilbert to his survival. And his angel would be caught in the middle of it, forced to pay for his misdeeds because all he had wanted to do was protect him.

Even after being told that he was Ivan Braginski, he had wanted nothing more than to protect him.

_He had never found the love he had so desperately hunted down._

But he had now, hadn't he?

His love was lying against him, fitfully sleeping.

He had known for a while now that he loved his angel – had loved his angel since that moment where he had deemed him 'Sunflower'. Of course, back then, he hadn't understood it – hadn't understood why he was so desperate for his angel's attention, his affection, his infinite wisdom and his memories.

It was because his angel was the first being in centuries to show him _caring_ and _warmth_. In the dead of winter, his angel had brought him sunflowers and had kept him snug by the fire or in bed. His every fear had been assuaged by his angel's endless patience and he had made _pancakes_, for hell's sake.

He had talked to a _bear_ because that bear was also part of their family.

He buried his chin in his angel's hair.

His throat felt cold – the scarf his sister had made for him so many, many years ago was missing.

He remembered the guilt-flushed expression his angel had worn when he had first brought it up – the scarf his angel had bought him in an attempt he now knew to replace the first.

He had never let a single drop of blood hit that scarf – but the allied forces, once they had gotten a hold of him, had had no such qualm.

He remembered the note on the door saying that the manager had taken the garbage so they wouldn't have to worry about it and Angel's crestfallen appearance after he had read that.

Angel hadn't meant to throw away something he somehow knew had meant a lot to him.

Angel was… _an angel_. There were people in the world like this? People who dragged strangers covered in blood and death into their homes and nursed them back to life? People who so graciously gave their time and money for those strangers?

He set his angel gently to one side, shifting Kumajirou closer to him. He threw his coat over them.

He would go back to the cottage and get what Angel would need to hide out for just a bit – just until this was all over.

Once he arrived there, it was sullenly dark within and eerily quiet.

Gilbert had left without destroying anything other than what had been harmed in the fight. There was blood on the walls and floor and some on the ceiling from the mini-battle and some cracks and dents to go with it, but nothing that couldn't be eventually washed away or fixed within a few days.

He grabbed a duffel bag of clothing for his angel, enough food that could carefully last about two weeks –

And then he paused, standing in front of the closet he had seen his angel constantly glance at when he had thought he wasn't looking.

Did he have the right to look at something that clearly took up his angel's time when he wasn't busy with him?

He had never cared before.

The door slid soundlessly open.

It was clearly a storage closet – some sleeping bags, a few containers of batteries and flashlights, some other battery-operated machinery in case of an emergency, a set of two-way radios… The list just went on to everything that could be included on a camping trip to a sudden bombing.

Had his angel been planning to abandon him?

The thought made him want to get angry, but all he could feel was sad. Even Angel hadn't cared for him…

He went to shut the door, but as he did so, his foot connected – just lightly – with a sleeping bag lying on the floor, causing it to shift somewhat to the side.

The movement made a rustling sound, like paper.

Frowning, he investigated; what he found was a brown paper bag with… something in it.

That something turned out to be a scarf – nearly complete, but not quite. It was golden yellow, like sunflowers, home-knit with a pattern like petals throughout it with burnt sienna thread.

It was soft to his fingers and awing to look at. … Was this what his angel had been glancing at the closet for?

He studied the rope of fabric avidly and saw where it was yet to be finished – at the tail of it, there was a word being spelled out in amethyst purple, only halfway done.

_Sun-_

But he could guess what the rest was going to say.

He rubbed the material against his cheek, feeling almost unbearably warm inside as the scent of his angel – woven into every inch of yarn – beckoned his senses.

Despite its incompleteness, he wrapped it around his neck, grabbed the supplies, and left, erasing his trail as he went along.

They would have those with strong noses, strong ears, and/or far-seeing eyes when they would go hunting for him.

He couldn't lead them to his angel. He wouldn't.

* * *

Author's Note: My early update is due to the fact that I'm getting excited about updating!


	12. Love All of Me

"_Angel…"_

Was someone calling him?

"_Angel…"_

He didn't want to wake up… he was too comfortable.

"_Angel…"_

Was his bed moving?

"_Angel?"_

Yes, his bed was definitely moving.

Now unable to stay asleep, his eyes flickered open. He blinked up at his bed…

His oddly Sunflower-look-alike bed.

He yelped. "S-Sunflower?" He looked from his face to where he was lying.

He was sitting on Sunflower's lap, completely limp against his torso. And he was wearing Sunflower's coat, nothing else. He flushed darkly.

"HeT."

Something in Sunflower's tone – serious and morose – made him pale from his cherry-red. He looked back up into Sunflower's expression.

He stared down at Mathew with the world's pain and wisdom that would take longer than a lifetime to receive in his vivid violet eyes… rimmed red.

Mathew's heart stuttered.

"Ivan Braginski." Sunflower went on to state.

No, not Sunflower… as he had said himself, he was _Ivan_.

He was a murderer, an enslaver – _he began the loveless war_.

"But I vould like to be your Sunflower for just a bit longer."

The fear in his body waned. Sun-… Ivan looked so… alone.

He could remind himself thousands of times over that this man was a villain, but what good could it do? He hadn't been there for the war; he hadn't seen the bodies fall, he hadn't heard the screams.

_He had seen the blood and Gilbert had summarized it all for him –_

But that was all.

He had been willing to love Sunflower after Gilbert's explanation… was Ivan really that much different? Older, yes – Mathew could see that in his eyes. More experienced, less childish, maybe a little uncertain where he had been bouncy before –

_Was that the scarf he hadn't finished?_

He stared at the golden yellow material that was wound snugly around Ivan's throat, color climbing back into his cheeks.

How did he find that?

Ivan fingered the scarf. "I vas vondering vy you kept looking at the closet… Do you mind?"

So he _had_ noticed!

After another moment, he shook his head. "I made it… for you. Rightfully, it belongs to you." Actually, he had made it for a man named Sunflower.

But this was Sunflower, wasn't it? Somewhere inside of this man was a shard of a frightened, childish boy who had nothing better to do than follow him every minute of the day.

"Did you bring the yarn and weaving sticks? I could finish that, eh…"

"HeT. It is perfect the vay it is." Ivan smiled down at him.

"O-okay…" He looked away from Ivan to where his bear had rested not too long ago. "… Where is my bear?"

"He vent out of the territory."

"G-good…" He didn't want his bear to be caught up in this. Hopefully, he would be safe.

There was an awkward silence.

"Angel?"

"Y-yes?"

"Can I be your Sunflower a vile longer?"

Mathew tilted his head up to look at Ivan. Hesitantly, he nodded. "Yes."

_A while longer? What happens after a while longer? He must think we're not going to get out of this either._

Ivan – no_, Sunflower_; _maple_, this was going to get confusing – giggled softly. "Yay~"

And then he kissed him.

Mathew tensed, not expecting that. "S-Sunflower?" He breathed once the short and gentle joining of lips was over – more like a peck than anything else.

But Sunflower was staring at him with a light in his eyes that Mathew had never seen before – like a cross between lust and _love_.

His heart skipped a beat. "Sunflower…" Maybe…

Maybe he could love him in a way that lovers love each other.

Their lips connected again, longer this time.

Gently, still kissing, Sunflower lowered him to the cave floor, only his coat between the rocks and Mathew's back. Mathew's hands tangled in his simple sweater, holding him tightly.

"I love you, Angel."

Tears sprang into cerulean blue eyes. He smiled widely, feeling joy clog his throat. He tried to open his mouth, to repeat those words to Sunflower, but he couldn't choke out the words.

So, instead, he kissed him as deeply as he could, trying convey words into actions and _show_ him. Their tongues danced together, running along the roofs of their mouths and across teeth, into each cheek cavity. By the time they separated for air, their mouths held no secret from each other.

"Angel tastes like maple syrup." Sunflower grinned, licking his glossy lips and wiping away the spit resting on his chin.

Had Mathew had the ability to, he would have answered that Sunflower tasted like… sunflower seeds. And pancakes.

Sunflower's smile turned into concern. "Are you sure you vant to do this?"

He nodded. "Y-y-yes…" He strangled out. He wrapped one arm around Sunflower's shoulders, feeling the soft warmth of the scarf against his forearm, and the opposite hand he petted through his hair.

They stripped down to nothing, Sunflower's coat remaining beneath Mathew's body to keep him safe from the icy stones of the cavern floor.

Their lips were hardly ever apart – always, they were kissing, gasping and moaning into each other's mouths.

Mathew arched off of the coat as Sunflower's deft fingers teased his nipples, fondling them to peaking. "S-Sunflower!" His lips were stolen yet again, his whimper swallowed hungrily.

"That feels good, da?"

"E-eh!"

Sunflower's mouth fell from his to envelope one straining nipple, lapping at it until Mathew was one constant squirm beneath him.

"Ver is your pleasure spot, Angel?" Sunflower throatily purred.

Hesitantly, Mathew's hand came up to the misplaced curl coming out from his bangs.

Sunflower frowned. "That is it?" He touched the curl, not expecting much to happen.

Mathew cried out weakly, face flushing even redder than it had already been.

Sunflower's frown turned into a dangerous smirk. "Vat a vonderful erogenous zone~"

He laved the single curl with attention, stroking it and lipping it.

By the time he was done with the golden curl, Mathew was pile of goo beneath him, eyes glazed over and his every limb shaking even as he felt boneless.

Sunflower kissed him once more and then began a trek down his body, lips tasting skin the entire way.

Mathew watched him, gasping for breath and teary eyed, as he descended on his erection with one fell swoop.

"AAH!" Mathew erupted into Sunflower's mouth, body humming in the aftermath. "S-s-sorry!"

"Playing vith the curl vas that affective?" Sunflower didn't look upset – _no_, he looked pleased. His tongue ran over the cum as if it was cream to a cat, all the while smirking. "That is good…"

Mathew watched him begin again, now teasing his deflating length to life once more. "A-ah…" Sunflower's tongue could do amazing things, he realized. It _was_ the strongest muscle of the body, he supposed. But the things Sunflower was doing with that muscle… "Aaaah! M-mmm… S-s-s-un… S-sun…" Ah, _maple_, he gave up. "M-more!" He writhed desperately, hands tangled in Sunflower's hair.

He let go too soon, making Mathew wail in dismay. Sunflower nuzzled his throat, chuckling in an odd kolkolkol way. "Do not vorry, Angel. Ve are not done." He held up three fingers to Mathew's mouth.

Flushing, Mathew opened his mouth and let them in, sucking each of them and playing with them on his tongue until they were soaked with saliva.

Sunflower shuddered above him. "This is your first time, da?"

He nodded; how _could_ he have done this before when anyone he could have loved enough to do it with always forgot about him too soon? Polar bears mated after a period of 'playing', of basically being 'friends'. Anyone who was interested in Mathew in _that_ way never had the patience to take it slow.

"Good…" He took his fingers from Mathew and kissed him. Mathew could taste himself on his tongue. "I vill not disappoint."

Mathew didn't care if this was both their first times – he just wanted Sunflower.

One finger delved into his body, teasing the orifice slowly before entering. It slipped around, wiggling furiously, thrusting slowly.

Mathew bit Sunflower's bottom lip, squirming somewhat; it wasn't painful… there was the slightest sensation of burning and it was a bit uncomfortable, but it wasn't _painful_.

A second finger and Mathew gritted his teeth, tensing. That was… that was a little worse. He could live with it.

A third finger and Mathew buried his face into Sunflower's neck, unsure how this was going to feel once it was Sunflower inside of him instead of his fingers.

Sunflower could either feel his pain or was also aware of how tight and dry his inner walls were because he took his fingers out.

Mathew whimpered, trying to bring him back despite the pain he knew would occur.

"HeT." Sunflower pushed him back down. "Do not vorry, Angel – I am not stopping." He grinned. "I am going to lubricate you, da~"

Mathew wasn't sure what Sunflower meant by 'lubricate' until the giant had his legs over his shoulders and his head between his thighs, doing – _oooh_…

Mathew cried out. "S-Sunf-f-flower!" Something _wet_ and _warm_ and _wiggly_ was inside of him, pushing against his inner walls and reaching deeper than he had thought it _could_. "Aaah!" He panted, hands scrabbling at the coat, at Sunflower's hair, at his own hair.

"Touch yourself, Angel." Sunflower ordered softly, tongue thrusting in and out of Mathew's entrance. His vivid violet eyes were focused heatedly on his face.

Mathew – slowly, hesitantly, not so sure – rubbed one nipple in a circular motion, feeling so… so _naughty_ with Sunflower watching him do it.

His other hand reached up to his curl, tugging at it, making his breath hitch and his body tense. "E-e-eh… Nnnn…" He looked desperately to Sunflower. "M-more…"

Sunflower slipped two fingers in with his tongue, making sure that he was slick enough, loose enough, to fit him, before withdrawing and grinning down at him. "Da… More…"

He entered slowly, thrusting weakly.

Mathew bit into his bottom lip, trying to ignore the burn that came with the intrusion.

How could so much pain make him feel so happy?

He hid his face into Sunflower's neck, into the scarf – the last article of clothing Sunflower wore. He tried to hide his tears, forcing himself to move back onto Sunflower in encouragement.

"Angel…" Sunflower groaned when he was completely within Mathew.

He couldn't help but smile; maybe he felt nothing but pain, but Sunflower felt nothing but pleasure. Mathew could accept that, so he moved his hips a little, just enough to say that it was okay to go on even though his body was telling him that that was a dirty _lie_.

"HeT… Not yet…"

_He knew_. Mathew leaned back to look at Sunflower's expression; clearly, there was strain. Clearly, he wanted to keep moving, to keep experiencing the pleasure Mathew knew he was feeling.

Meeting Mathew's eyes, Sunflower grinned, a drop of sweat trickling from his hairline. "Ve both vill feel good, da~?"

He buried his head in Sunflower's scarf again, nodding.

When he felt the pain subside – when he felt heat pooling in his belly – he moved again, signaling that _now_ he was ready.

Slow thrusts against his inner walls caused such teasing friction that Mathew clawed at Sunflower's back. His mouth gaped open in one endless gasp. "M-more…"

"More…" Sunflower gutturally echoed.

Slow thrusts turned into forceful plunges that kept shifting angles, kept constantly moving, kept striking – "_AAAH!_ S-Sunflower!" – _that spot inside of him that made stars explode before his eyes._

And then Sunflower was aiming specifically for that spot, holding Mathew down at the hips and it was _powerful_ and _deep_ and Mathew was _going to die_ if there was any more pleasure involved – any more sweet agony that raked across his every nerve-ending and blew across his heated skin.

It only got worse when Sunflower wrapped his mouth around his curl, playing with it on his tongue.

"O-Oooh! E-e-eeeehh!... S-S-SUNFLOWER!"

He had never seen heaven before; honestly, he had never given it much thought.

But it was there now, he was there, and it enveloped him so very much that his nails bit into Sunflower's shoulders for something to ground him. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes and his body zapped and hummed and _broke_ with how good he felt, rebuilding itself one atom at a time.

He was vaguely aware of liquid heat bathing his insides – _what was this?_

"S-Sunflower?" He whimpered, one hand falling away from Sunflower's shoulder to claw at his chest; _what was this pain_? It was as if someone was tearing him in two, stealing something that was attached to him.

And then he was full. He was lost in a sea of pleasure and warmth and _he didn't want to leave_.

He fell limp against the coat beneath him, somewhat attentive to Sunflower's heavy weight settling into him, making breathing a little more difficult but not in any way dampening his aftershocks and the pleasant atmosphere surrounding him.

But, wait… what had that pain been about?

He opened his eyes slowly, drowsily, to look up at his lover. "… I love you, too…" He smiled, kissing him. "… Sunflower…" Should he say it? What if it later turned out to be a lie? No… it would never be a lie, no matter how it would later make him feel. "And Ivan…"

Sunflower sucked in a deep breath, looking at Mathew with shock. "… You do not mean that; you do not know me. You know Sunflower, da!"

"You're right, eh… and Sunflower's a part of you." His voice was scratchy from screaming. "Even if I don't know Ivan… I'd like to think that I love you regardless… because if you weren't Ivan first, I never would have met Sunflower, and then I never would have been so happy, eh. Ivan or Sunflower, you have never harmed me." He decided that what Sunflower had done during his fever didn't count. "You can't choose what you love in a person, _Ivan_. You and Sunflower… you're one person."

He learned something very interesting about Sunflower… Ivan… _his lover_.

He cried blood; thick droplets of red that rolled lethargically down his cheeks and dyed his eyes pink.

He wiped them away, his hand coming away scarlet, but not as bothered by it as he would have thought. "Y-you're still inside of me…" He pointed out shyly. "… A-and you're…" He was _hard_ again?

His lover stole his lips in a soul-wrenching kiss, already moving in and out at an increasingly rough pace. "I love you, Angel…" He whispered. "I love you, da."

Mathew gave himself over to him without a fight. "I love you, too, _Ivan_."

* * *

Author's Note: I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! I think everyone was waiting for the huge blowup, but, umm… It kind of… didn't… happen that way… I'm sorry! But, umm… there's… smex… and love… sooo… … … … Please don't hate me! When I first wrote this, it honestly didn't occur to me to have a huge blowout between them! Don't forget, I've already written everything out – the only thing left to do is to grammar check and then post.


	13. No Easy Way

"What do ya mean he's still alive?" Alfred gaped at Gilbert.

"I mean he's fuckin' flying – he was at Mattie's house, healthy as awesome could be and eating _pancakes_." Gilbert growled out, still miffed that the other demon had upped him.

"Mattie…? _Oh_, I knew there was something I forgot!" Alfred snapped his fingers, proud of himself for at least finally remembering. That pride soon shriveled up as the rest of what Gilbert had said penetrated his thick skull. "Wait… _Ivan _was at his house?"

"Yes!"

"… Oh, fuck…" Alfred stared at the floor. "… We should have killed him instead of leaving him near-dead… W-was Mattie okay?"

"Yeah.." Gilbert thought back. "It was strange; it was like Ivan couldn't even remember who he was! I was telling Mattie about the war and Ivan freaked out and hid behind him. He was like a little kid!" He forgot to mention that Mathew had said as much.

Alfred's hands fisted at his sides. He was careful not to look to his right, where Arthur stood with wide eyes, or to his left, where Francis stood with much the same expression. "We'll find him and this time, we'll kill him. No lasting punishment – we'll end his life before he can round up his old allies and start the war again."

"Yeah, how do ya think we're gonna do that?" Gilbert mordantly sneered. "Half of our own allies are back home, too weak to fight again and the other half are being unawesome and boo-hooing over the war!"

"We still have us – and then there's Ludwig, he'll fight happily. Kiku, Heracles, Yao, Elizaveta, Antonio, Feliks, Berwald, Tino… They'd fight. You just don't know what you're talking about, Gil! Anyone would want to fight with their hero!" Alfred offered a painfully fake grin and a thumbs up.

Gilbert grimaced. Arthur looked away and Francis sighed heavily.

They were going back to war.

"What do we do about Mathew, though?" Arthur breached the subject. "If Ivan was acting like a child for shelter, than having Gilbert come along and ruin his guise puts Mathew in a place of danger."

Gilbert scowled at the ground. "I think we have something a little worse to worry about with the birdie." He muttered.

Alfred cut a glare in his direction. "What are you talking about?"

"What I'm talkin' about is that your little bro attacked me to save the bastard's life." The albino sneered. "What's worse, the bastard hit my lights out when I was about to kick your little bro's ass for being an idiot."

Francis was frowning now, cupping his jaw. "This sounds like… something a little more than little _Mathieu _can explain away, _oui_?"

Alfred stared at the ground, his dirty blonde hair obscuring his bespectacled gaze. "… We can't be sure yet… Mattie's not that kind of kid to side with the bad guys!"

The silence that answered the American was more than answer enough.

Mathew was officially an accomplice.

* * *

Author's Note: I sense tension~

RickaZcurser wrote such a beautiful review, I updated soon after reading it! However, I initially thought this chapter was longer… Damn it! Ah, this just means I'll have to update sooner, doesn't it?


	14. Try to Give

Ivan was stroking back Mathew's hair, studying his restful expression avidly, burning every detail into his memory.

He pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, paused, and then pressed their lips softly together. In his sleep, Mathew murmured, shifting closer to him.

Ivan had piled two blankets over him and another blanket beneath him for added protection. "I love you, Angel… This vay, you vill be safe, da~"

He stood to his feet and exited the cave.

Some hours later, he was entering enemy camp.

The area was eerily silent; what people were in view kept their gazes locked on him with no fear and only rage and hatred. No one gasped in shock of him being alive, nor did anyone break the silence by whispering to each other.

They must have already known that he wasn't dead.

They followed him as he walked through the camp, holding themselves tensely – at the ready to lunge forward and end him. There was a rundown apartment building towards the middle of the camp, partially destroyed by misfire and infiltrations that Ivan himself had commanded.

He didn't get the chance to enter; Alfred and his little gang came out to meet him.

He could see the hatred of the entire camp reflected in Alfred's blue eyes, the strength that the army had depended on waning visibly in the man's stance. And yet he still stood proudly, none of his bravery gone.

Just tired.

Ivan had done that to him; despite what he was there for, he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his lips.

"Hello, Alfred."

"_Ivan_." The man spat as if it was a curse. "What are you doing here, huh? We're supposed to be hunting you down."

"I saved you the trouble of doing that, da?"

Alfred's eyes narrowed and he took a more protective stance in front of the Brit standing behind him. "So what? Now you're gonna cause another massacre?"

"HeT." That answer, he could tell, confused a fair number of the spectators.

It shamed him to do it, but he lowered himself to his knees and placed his hands on the ground in a placating nature, head bowed down. "I accept my fate."

_Now_ there were gasps and whispers; hardly any of the onlookers believed that it was going to be _that easy_. Another number of them started crying, eager to believe and happy to know that they wouldn't have to face a second hell.

"On von condition." Ivan continued.

"After all the crimes you comitted, _we_ have to negotiate with _you_?"

"If you vant this to go easy, da!"

An awkward silence.

"… Depends on what it is."

Ivan grinned: Alfred, always trying to seem as if he was in control of the situation.

"A-… Matvey does not get hurt. He did nothing vrong, he did not know who I vas – " a snort from Gilbert drew little attention "and vanted only to protect me."

Alfred stared down at him for a long time, almost as if he was trying to understand something. Finally, he nodded. "Fine." He brought out a pistol, cocking it and pulling Ivan's head back at the same time. "We'll make it quick this time."

Two bullets went into one calf and another round went into his opposite leg, the echoing bangs seeming extremely loud.

They had to make sure he didn't run away, after all.

He didn't scream and no one flinched. Alfred took a step back and gestured for Arthur. The warlock muttered something in Latin, moving his hands in some intricate pattern over Ivan's head.

His body clamped down painfully, his arms numb at his sides and head lolling on his shoulders. He worked his mouth a few times, swiping his tongue over his lips – there was a chance he might still be able to talk, at least.

He collapsed onto his side and chains were wrapped around him, thick strands of steel that laid heavily on him. Using the ends of the chains, they dragged him away, towards the same spot where he had fallen the first time.

Someone tried to take the scarf from him – he didn't know why. "H-HeT…" He murmured, slurred somewhat. "Take… anything else… scarf stays."

But, of course, he was a murderer, a _psychopath_; no one gave a damn for his wants and needs.

The scarf slid – after a few jerks – off of his neck and into the grimy hands of a boy with hate-filled eyes. The boy was soon out of sight, but his hatred stayed with Ivan.

They might as well have taken all his clothes and his skin too because he now felt bare to their eyes, naked and weak.

They lied him on the very mound his throne of corpses had stood upon, face to the sky.

Alfred came into view with the damnable sword that had only a month or so ago nearly impaled his heart.

It was the only weapon they had that could kill him – something to do with a legend that the same blade had been created from the blood of angels.

He watched death come towards him at an alarmingly fast rate, cheers in the background.

He brought up his angel's memory, how he had accepted him so warmly, how he had opened up so passionately beneath him, how he had _loved_ him.

_I love you, Angel…_

And then the world exploded in bursts of flames and screams reigned supreme.

Amongst the flames stood none other than… "S-… Sister?" Natalia glared with icy cold eyes among the hell that had erupted.

* * *

Author's Note: Uh oh~


	15. Teach Me Hope

Katsyusha stared at the small, blonde before her.

Does she feel awe? Does she feel horror? Does she feel _adoration_? Does she feel _weary_?

She wasn't sure.

There in front of her, sleeping unaware, was a being somehow _powerful_ enough to have the scent of her young brother marking him and yet look perfectly okay. Completely unharmed and even – as she leaned forward upon further speculation – _loved_.

Her baby brother knew _love_?

It certainly seemed to be that way. The boy before her was sleeping _peacefully_ – held, visibly, only hickeys and some sealed up wounds that suggested slashing.

But she knew her brother's way of fighting; he didn't _slash_, he _bashed_. The wounds on this boy's body – the _only_ wounds on his body, were not made by her brother.

She shifted closer, breasts bouncing even with that slight movement.

She had wanted to say… _something_ to her brother – something she could never had told him alive. Though she had been uncertain as to what she would find left of him, or if she would find him, she had just wanted to try one last time…

Imagine her surprise when she had been led to a cottage as she had tracked a recently new scent of her _baby brother_ – new, as in, _he hadn't died_.

And then she had roamed around the cottage for a bit, picking up different scents, wondering what had happened for there to be such dismay within, and then had continued her hunting along a trail that had been so faint, it was nearly untraceable. The trail had seemed almost purposefully dull, now that she thought about it. Had she not known her brother's scent so well, she would have long ago abandoned the tract. Yet hundreds of years in existence with her led astray little brother had kept her steadily onward.

That was how she had ended up in a small cave hidden from the elements. And this boy.

She could smell faint sex and fading heat – her brother and… this child, yet again.

She came a little closer and brushed the boy's hair from his face, admitting with a small smile to herself that he _was_ cute and he did seem sweet just by how relaxed he looked. But was that something that attracted her brother?

Or had her brother just been using this child?

Even as the thought came, it went. His brother used people extensively, but, unless this child was secretly masochistic, her brother had _never_ shed kindness upon another.

…

…

Tears pulled in her eyes; that was a lie. He had showed kindness to _her_; when she had defied him, defied what he wanted to fight for, and had run away, he had not chased her down. He had never raised a harmful hand to her before that day, either. Neither had he ever harmed Natalia.

But this child was not her or Natalia; he was in no way blood related to her baby brother.

Wait, though… _Wait_…

She leaned forward, sniffing delicately. She gasped into the silence of the cave before she could slap a hand over her mouth; she stared with wide eyes down at the boy.

No… This child was not her or Natalia, nor in any way blood related to her baby brother… He was _closer_ to her baby brother than any of them could ever be.

"H-He…" But the sentence went unfinished.

As if finally realizing that he wasn't alone, the boy woke from his slumber, eyes fluttering open and fixing on her only blearily, without realizing exactly what he was looking at.

And then the incomprehension was gone and he was just as wide-eyed as her. "EH!" He tried, unsuccessfully, to crawl away from her. The blankets held him mostly in place. "W-who ar-re you, eh?" His voice was shrill with shock.

Katsyusha could admit that she might be frightened too if she woke up naked with a demon she didn't know staring at her. "No, don't be afraid!" She put her hands in front of her, trying to placate the creature. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise!" His fear made her want to cry…

The boy calmed slowly before frowning. "Y-… Y-you're c-crying…" He reached out slowly, eyes meeting Katsyusha's gaze in a 'may I?' manner before his fingers went up her cheeks, erasing the bloody tears.

She stared at him with awe.

Usually, people became afraid with the red tears; they always reacted wrongly.

"… W-who … are you?" The boy asked again.

"M-my name? Ah! I am Katsyusha!" She offered a friendly smile and straightened her shoulders, her breasts bouncing in her excitement.

The boy paled and it appeared as if his eyes glued to her face for some reason.

A reason, after so many centuries, she knew well; but if he didn't want to bring it up, neither would she.

"… I-I'm Mathew… W-why are you here? W-were you s-s-seeking shelter f-from the snow, eh?"

She shook her head. "I was… looking for my brother."

The boy – Mathew – stared at her for a long moment; she could feel his concentration completely on her in that space of time, as if he was coming to a conclusion all on his own.

He tensed. "A-are you… I-Ivan's sister?"

She brightened. "Did he tell you about me?"

He shook his head slowly. "I-It's just… I th-t-think we're the only o-ones that have been here… and I-I can see the r-resemblance…"

Her shoulders drooped. "Oh… Okay…"

"I-In his defense, h-he couldn't e-even remember his o-own name until a f-f-few hours ago, eh!" He wiped away her tears again. "H-He lost his m-m-memory… for some time."

Was he… Was he serious? Yes; she could tell by his expression, by the honesty there.

In the two months her brother had been supposedly 'dead', he had instead been void of his memories… "Did you take care of him?"

The child hesitantly nodded. "I-I named him S-S-Sunflower… He was r-really happy."

Her heart melted in her breast; _sunflower_. That had always been her brother's favorite plant.

She hugged Mathew. "Thank you." She breathed. "Thank you!"

"I-It was no problem! E-eh, do you k-know where he is?"

She frowned and pulled away; now that she thought about it…

This was as far as she had gotten in her searching. "No… You mean you don't know?"

He shook his head.

"I was going to go find him…"

"I-I'll come w-with you!"

She blinked. "Why? Isn't he coming back?"

He frowned. "… I… I d-don't know… I just f-feel like I have t-to find him." Mathew threw the blankets off.

There was an awkward silence.

"E-EH! I'm NAKED!"

Katsyusha caught sight of dried semen and more love marks before the child cowered beneath the blankets. "… It was consensual, right?" She hoped against hope.

The boy looked up at her with unclouded cerulean eyes. With a firmness she had not known he possessed, he nodded. "I wanted it." His voice was low, so low her ears just caught the sound – but it was without a single quiver or stutter. "Katsyusha… you say you're his sister, so that means you two have known each other for a long time and you've most likely seen him in the war, eh. I… I know he did a lot of bad things – no specific details, just some of the things – but he never hurt me and he's actually _protected_ me, so…" He flinched. "W-wait, which s-side of the war were y-you on, eh?"

She stared at him with more love in her gaze than she had ever been able to muster for any being not her siblings. "The allied forces… I couldn't support what my brother was doing! B-but… if he was able to change… able to find love in you… I think… I think I can face him again."

She stood to her feet. "I'll wait outside for you!"

He nodded and smiled. "W-we'll find him t-together, eh!"

"Yes!"

* * *

Author's Note: Katsyusha! No story including Ivan is complete without you! Your sweetness and bouncing boobies make any mood happier! … Wait… Was it necessary for me to add that 'bouncing boobies' part? … Hmmm…

Two chapters in one night? You know I love y'all!


	16. Kill for Love

He was doing this. He was _honestly_ doing this.

His legs didn't hurt so much; the spell Arthur had cast had worn off once the Brit's attention had been torn away. He had had the chance to either run or bloodily murder them. But, _no_… He wasn't doing either.

He was fighting for the dubbed 'good' side, a familiar faucet pipe in hand (apparently, they had kept it as a kind of memoir), and _attacking his own army_.

The worst part of it was that he didn't care. The very soldiers he had raised to listen only to his order, to fear his every movement, rose in wave and wave against him.

Then again, that could be Natalia's fault; how to break someone's mind without breaking their body had been more her forte than his. No; she knew how to use her own beauty, her hidden strength, and a man's fear against them until they crawled on the floor and basked in pools of blood such as another would lounge in a bath of water.

They were deranged – such was apparent in their cheek-splitting grins and bloodshot eyes. He couldn't just beat them down either, he had to kill them or they only rose again, not feeling the pain as much as they should have.

He left a bloody trail behind him as he went to meet his little sister.

Something golden floated on the wind, flapping quietly towards him; his outstretched hand caught the scarf that had earlier been torn from him.

What had happened to the child who had stolen it? How had the scarf returned to him on just a breeze? Despite his questions, he wound the material around his throat once more, taking in the cleansing scent of his angel.

The tails fluttered in the wind, flashing the half-printed name, _'Sun-'_.

"That is not the scarf Katsyusha made for you." A toneless, feminine voice said from nearby.

The echoes of screams and clashing weapons and bodies were easily overcome by his sister.

"HeT, that scarf vas lost." His grip on the faucet tightened.

"Then where did that one come from?" She came forward, her dress dragging across the blood-soaked floor.

He smiled. "This scarf came from an angel, da~"

He expected her attack – he didn't look forward to it, nor did he become excited about it; but he blocked it and then let his faucet continue on its way until it crashed with cracking force against his sister's ribs.

She slid some feet, but she was instantly back, twin stiletto blades out and aimed straight for him. There was no familiarity in her eyes; whether or not she cared for the crush she had held on him not too long ago, for the sibling bond they had, she didn't show it.

She fully intended to kill him for his betrayal to his cause; for the cause he had all but forced her to accept. She didn't care for expanding her family, for the love of others.

She had just wanted to stay with him. Why did she fight now for something she didn't even want? Why was she going to kill him if he was the only thing she had ever cared for? The questions swam through his mind, but he gave them little of his concentration.

There was a long-haired fury trying to decapitate and/or impale him, just waiting for him to become distracted.

And so he fought with as much resolve as she fought, knowing what would come next and yet… _dreading _it. This was his sister; his blood sister, his little sister, the sister he had raised for many, many years.

Now what he had raised… he would cut down.

Sparks flew as her blades slid along his pipe, trying to find purchase and not succeeding.

They climbed, almost dancing on the side of the apartment building as their rivalry sent them up.

He spun to one side as she plunged, allowing her to fall several feet before she caught herself and ran back up, causing brick and glass to descend to the growing more distant ground.

He managed to break her arm and she slashed him across the cheek. He threw her off the side of the building again and she only returned, catching him along his already injured thigh until he knew she had caught a vein.

Their ascent continued until they were fighting bloodily on the roof.

Their eyes were scarlet red without the tint of any other color as they faced each other. The knowledge was in the air that one of them would not be getting off the roof alive – possibly both of them.

She took a stance, her blades protectively before her. He raised his pipe with both hands and grinned childishly, sanity gone from his cold gaze.

Yes… maybe they both would die… Yet, sister or not, he _would_ enjoy this.

They rammed into each other with enough force to echo like a thunderclap. And, below, the war came to a standstill as enemies and allies alike looked up to the building, knowing just as the two above knew that this would be the turning point – _or it could just be the end of the war_.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

A polar bear and white-haired woman with… _generous_ breasts dashed onto the scene, both with panic apparent.

Alfred's head turned from the roof to the approaching white bear, free of all the filth that had enveloped them.

His ears perked forward and he shifted from his four paw-ish hands to his two thickened back feet, each toe and finger ending in razor-sharp claws. His lengthened muzzle split into a grin, a long, pink tongue lolling from his mouth which contained jagged canines.

His muscled, furred body shook somewhat with excitement. He let loose a howl, galloping towards the bear.

The polar bear was in no way prepared for his sudden assault, and so tumbled over beneath his weight with a surprised groan. They were about the same size, so it didn't hurt as much as it would have had the bear been anyone else.

And through Alfred's mind was: _Mattie was okay! His baby brother was okay! HIS BABY BROTHER WAS OKAY! _He ran his tongue affectionately along the bear's sloping forehead.

The bear, however, did not seem focused at all on Alfred. No… Mattie was staring at the roof as well, his cerulean blue eyes wide and growing wider at every noise that resounded down to them.

Next to him, Katsyusha was filled with an equal amount of horror; possibly more, actually.

_Her brother and sister were fighting to the death._

But that was odd… Natalia had shared Ivan's views on the war, had shifted and shaped herself until she fit perfectly beneath his command. Was this to say that…

_Ivan had changed?_

She looked down to Mattie who continued to stare desperately upward, a large, pure white (aside from splattered blood, dirt, and wounds) werewolf looming over him with delight in its baby blue eyes.

She looked back to the building, tears overflowing from her eyes.

As if her tears were a wakeup call, the war began once more; throats gashing open and soft bellies ripped apart. Hearts were torn and organs were destroyed. Eyes were blinded and fur flew as skin was bloodily discarded.

And, always, there was scarlet liquid until everyone was dyed crimson and the ground itself was an endless red carpet made of fallen bodies.

The werewolf stood to its imposing height, letting loose a savage howl before it raced through the battlefield to the side of a bushy-browed man weaving spells and being overwhelmed by foes.

She and Mathew were left alone; but not for long.

Beings with demented grins and insane eyes rushed them, laughing raucously and reaching out to them with ragged claws already painted crimson, as were their fangs.

Mathew rose to his back paws and _roared_ until the very rage-filled scream overpowered the volume of the war itself and then threw himself forward, his black lips opening wide before he bit down on one attacking enemy.

His ferocity woke Katsyusha up from her numb thoughts.

She couldn't do anything for her brother or sister right now; she didn't know who she wanted to win or if she wanted _either_ of them to win. She loved them both so much… But her love had a limit – a body count limit – and she wasn't sure if she could treat either of them the same once this was over.

… Perhaps… Perhaps that was a lie…

Because Mathew was willing to love Ivan for everything he was and she could not fight that kind of undeniable affection. Ivan, once he had released his reasons for war, released who he had been (whether or not it was because he had forgotten about them) had found someone to love him and had in turn fallen in love.

Natalia… No, Natalia had had someone like that; Katsyusha could remember the boy clearly because he had always become flustered around her younger sister. Natalia had never cared for the boy; had sometimes pointed out to him how worthless and useless he was. She didn't want to change – she didn't fight _for love_.

She fought for… whatever it was she was fighting for now that even Ivan was against her.

_She fought for what could have been._

Katsyusha would turn her back to her younger sister, knowing that there was no saving her. But, maybe, just maybe… She would open her arms to her younger brother.

Because Mathew was fighting as if he had been possessed by the god of war, always striving for the building without anyone being able to deter him and the light that showed in his eyes told her that he fought _for_ her brother, not _against_ him. His pristine white pelt was splattered red and his blue tongue was now a rosy pink.

She fought with him, never leaving his side as they reached out to the building.

_She wasn't going to give up because Mathew showed her new hope in her family._

There was a thick path of bodies behind them by the time they were at the building. Mathew rushed the front door, breaking it down.

Katsyusha grabbed him by the ruff of fur on the back of his neck; she had a better idea – a quicker one.

She tossed him on her back, aware of how his limbs were going to drag, but at least it would be more time-efficient than taking the stairs. She ignored his excessive weight and bark of surprise as she put one foot to the brick wall and then began running up its side.

The scene they leaped onto the roof to witness was one of Ivan sending his faucet pipe across Natalia's head, crashing her skull to the ground and then her body sliding into the ledge.

Both were injured – blood was apparent – _why was there so much blood? Why could nothing be clean of blood in this war?_

But, wait, there was something clean of blood.

There was an unfamiliar scarf around Ivan's throat, completely void of the red substance. She had once made a scarf for him – a whitish lilac in color and already tattered by the time she had given it to him – and she could not remember a time since giving it to him in which he had taken it off.

The tails of this new scarf fluttered, revealing a word stitched into one end that seemed incomplete: _Sun_.

… Sun… Sun…

With dawning realization, she let Mathew slip off her shoulders and stared at the polar bear. No, not sun; _sunflower_.

Because _sunflower_ had been Ivan's name when he couldn't remember his own. And golden yellow was the color of sunflowers and, _goodness_, the color of the lettering was the same as Ivan's eyes…

Or, at least Ivan's eyes when they were violet. Now they were a bleeding red, an open wound in his gaze. His lips were curled to show jagged teeth in a grin that split too wide across his cheeks. His hair was matted down with sweat and – _yes, more blood; where did all of this blood come from? Did the ground itself bleed? Did the __**rain**__ itself send down scarlet drops_?

And Natalia looked no better off, her long, long hair a crimson tail that tangled in on itself and wrapped almost possessively around her shoulders, seemingly copying the scarf Ivan wore around his.

Mathew cried out, going to charge forward.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kept him back; no, this wasn't their battle. Maybe she had seen how Mathew had fought to come to Ivan's side and made herself believe that, _somehow_, they could play a part in this; but she had been wrong. Such was apparent as they two siblings clashed, always with wound-rendering force.

Nonetheless, Mathew's cry drew attention…

The _wrong_ kind of attention.

Natalia looked at them first, her twin blades locked on Ivan's faucet pipe; her eyes narrowed hatefully on Katsyusha before landing on Mathew with what grew to be absolute rage.

Oh, yes; Natalia could smell it, too. The scent that was obviously Ivan's essence on Mathew, his mark on and _in_ the boy's body.

Whether or not the people below had been paying enough attention to that, much less the admittedly dull-looking werewolf that had attached itself to Mathew, suddenly didn't matter.

Because _Natalia_ noticed.

And then Ivan noticed.

In that moment, she knew she could forgive him; because the red bled out of his eyes and they widened with shock before his efforts doubled to distract Natalia, to drive her back.

"Sister!" Ivan called out to Katsyusha. "Get Angel out of here!" He demanded.

The tears overwhelmed her, falling from her eyes; when had been the last time her brother had called her sister?

Mathew fought her embrace, claws clacking against the roof as he struggled forward.

She had to get him out of here; he might want to defend Ivan, but Natalia would go _through_ him if he didn't leave.

If Ivan lost, Natalia's next target would be him anyway.

_But, wait_… _Did Ivan just call Mathew… Angel?_

She went to lift Mathew – to go back to the war and help in the only way they could, by killing even more – but he ripped from her grasp.

And his teeth sank into Natalia's side, shoving her away from Ivan just as her blade made a curving swoop for Ivan's face. The force was strong enough that Natalia flew off her feet and rolled head over heels away from them before regaining her ground.

By then, Mathew had taken a protective stance between Natalia and Ivan, teeth bared threateningly as he stood to his full, intimidating height with small ears pressed back to his skull and cerulean blue eyes aflame.

Oh, yes… He was more than willing to defend Ivan.

And Ivan stood behind him with widened violet eyes, jaw slack. Slowly, shock turned into an expression Katsyusha could not help but find…

Heart throbbing.

Ivan looked as if he was _falling in love_.

And then he grabbed Mathew by his the ruff of his fur and pushed him out of the way as Natalia flew back at them with a blood-curdling scream.

Whether Mathew tried to intercept or not, the sibling war continued exclusively between Ivan and Natalia.

At one point, Mathew seemed to realize this and returned dejectedly to her side, limping. His gaze remained focused on the fight, but he sat down heavily by her as they waited for a winner to be declared.

She tangled one hand in her fur, needing the comfort.

She was going to lose someone today; she didn't know who yet, but someone was going to die.

And her heart tore to itty bitty pieces in her chest as she realized this.

Who knew how much went by; seconds, minutes, hours, _days_…

The faucet pipe came down with a trail of demonic purple energy behind it, breaking Natalia's spine as it descended.

Natalia gasped and collapsed to the ground, not given the time to overcome the pain and heal enough to continue fighting as Ivan placed a foot between her shoulder blades and clenched one clawed hand in preparation for killing her.

For ripping her heart out.

She covered Mathew's eyes, ignoring his struggles to move her hand. He didn't need to see this.

But that was a mistake on her part; Natalia wasn't done. She was down for the count, numb from her waist to her feet, bloodied and broken – but not done.

She still had her blades. And Mathew was situated just at the very ledge of the roof.

A dagger flew through air faster than Katsyusha could watch it.

The bear in her arms let out a fatal wheeze, jerking backwards as the stainless steel went through the thick layer of fur, tore through muscle, broke through bone, and struck his heart.

He fell over the ledge. "NOOO!" Katsyusha heard another scream from behind her, this one not of denial but of intense agony, as she threw herself over the side of the building after the bear.

She thanked whatever being helped her defy gravity in time for her to grab the polar bear and save him from splattering against the ground.

In her arms, he gasped for breath, cerulean blue eyes clouding over. His body cracked and popped and his fur receded until he was nothing but the boy Katsyusha had earlier met in the cave.

She shifted her body to hide his indecency as a second body crashed to the ground, this one without anyone to save it.

She turned her head away; enemy or not, that was still her sister lying dead before her.

A large, beige overcoat settled over the boy in her arms. Looking up, Ivan was leaning over her, smiling comfortingly. "Ve vill remove the blade now, da?"

She nodded.

A hush had begun to descend, beginning with those closest to them and then quickly stretching over the entire battlefield.

Enemy and ally alike stared.

The white werewolf from earlier came barreling through, stopping only when his baby blues landed on the deathly still form in her arms, now devoid of a blade in his chest.

A moment later, a very naked blonde man stood before them, no shame in his nudity as he stalked forward with a snarl on his lips. Then again, there were a fair number of werebeasts and shapeshifters now bare among the warriors.

They couldn't help that clothes didn't last the transition.

"What the fuck did you do?" The werewolf snarled, sapphire flames in his eyes.

"I killed my sister, da." Ivan answered with an emotionless expression.

"Not _her_ –" As if that didn't matter. "_My brother_!"

Ivan drew himself to his full height, lifting his chin so that the werewolf looked pitifully small before him, and then said – "I killed for him."

There was silence where no one could think of what to say to that.

"Then why is he dead?" The werewolf finally growled.

"He is not dead."

"He's dead! He doesn't have a heartbeat, he's not breathing, there's a _damn wound_ _in his chest_! He's _dead_!" Tears were gathered in his eyes.

"HeT; he is not dead." Ivan took Mathew from Katsyusha's arms, holding him high to his chest. "He is healing, da~"

The werewolf stared up at him as if he thought him delusional.

Mathew started breathing – coughing. His eyes opened slowly, hazily, onto the gathered groups.

He blinked slowly. "… A-Alfred?"

The werewolf – Alfred – nearly collapsed. "H-How…? B-But the blood! The wound! _How_?"

"It's a soul bonding." Katsyusha spoke up. "It's only partway done or else you would be able to smell it no matter how far away you are from him."

"… Soul bonding?"

Enemies were being forced into submission as the conversation took place, even the more demented ones realizing that their leader and fallen and, therefore, they shall be forced to give in.

An albino, the warlock from earlier, and a flamboyant blonde weaved through the army to Alfred's side.

"You wanker! A soul bonding is an inescapable connection between two beings! If one partner in the bonding is killed, the other partner will die; the same goes for the reverse!"

"_Oui_." The other stranger spoke up. "It is the deepest bond of _l'amour_, shared between two bodies who know they will never have another and have no wish to~"

"I get it, Frenchy!" Alfred turned back to Ivan with rage in his eyes. "So, why didn't you both just die, huh? And if that's true, how come you were so willing to die earlier to _save him_?"

Katsyusha gasped; her brother had been willing to die for Mathew?

Mathew gasped as well; but not out of awe or that he was still trying to catch his breath. _Ivan had planned to die for him_?

What a… a… What a _hoser_!

But his anger was never voiced.

"Because I am _imm~or~tal_, da! My soul can not die because ve both know the only vay to kill me and my soul is not the vay. Therefore, Matvey could not die because my soul is tied vith his! But, like my sister said, the bonding was only part vay. If I die, he vould only feel a little pain and then he vould be fine."

That was… quite a way to cheat death.

Alfred looked as if he couldn't understand it, but Arthur and Francis appeared unconfused.

"Now!" Ivan grinned. "Do ve carry on vith vat ve ver doing?"

The warlock and the Frenchy looked to Alfred who stared at the ground.

"… Francis, take Mattie."

Mathew's hands tangled in Ivan's shirt; _no_. They weren't taking him _anywhere_.

Ivan forced him to let go and put him into Francis's arms.

He looked up at the man he loved with betrayal in his eyes. "I-Ivan?"

"You vill be okay, Angel."

"I-Ivan!" He was too tired, too weak, his body still recovering from his death-experience, to put up an actual fight against the succubus. "Ivan!" He reached out weakly, but Ivan was already disappearing with Alfred, Gilbert, and Arthur. Katsyusha followed behind them, throwing Mathew one last sad glance. "_Ivan!_"

* * *

Author's Note: An open ended question for my reviewers: What is your definition of love?


	17. Look This Way and That

A cat stood upon a decaying carcass, forgotten in the cleanup that had occurred weeks before. He had sleek, burnt sienna fur that thinned towards his rump, but was thick in his chest area, tufts of fur starting from in front of his ears and lying off each cheek. There was an odd curl atop his head and his eyes were a strangely glowing green.

After some minutes of not moving a single muscle, he was joined by a rather slender, small man with glossy black hair and murky brown eyes. The man carried a bloodied, chipped sword at his side and wore what was once a white uniform.

They stood silently side by side.

"The war is over." The man stated out of the blue.

"… I know…" The cat answered back. His twin tails flickered before settling again. "Ivan has surrendered."

"He has fallen in love." The man explained. "He bonded with Mathew, Alfred's brother."

"He will not die."

The man seemed a bit surprised by this. "How do you know this, Heracles?"

"I know because I saw their expressions… Alfred will not kill Ivan… Arthur will not kill Ivan… Francis, Gilbert, Ludwig, Feliciano… None of them will have the will to kill him."

"Why?"

There was a pause. "Because Ivan was willing to kill his sister for a cause he doesn't even believe in. He killed his own blood relative for a man he hasn't known even half a year." The cat turned his head up to the man. "Kiku…"

The man looked down to the cat. "Heracles?"

"… We should bond our souls as well."

"W-what?"

"I will let you think about it." The cat left his perch and trotted towards the shambled building in which camps were being reformed.

There was a lining of enemies to one side and burning bodies to the other. The army either cried or laughed, either begged why or celebrated.

No one was completely happy, nor was everyone completely sad.

Kiku followed him, still flushed in the cheeks, but nonetheless close by. "Sometimes, I believe you to be a pervert."

The cat – Heracles – allowed himself a small purr, even as his expression remained one of lazy diligence. "Every moment of the day… I believe that you are refreshing to someone as old as me."

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

Ludwig couldn't move.

He had tried, but it was impossible.

He had tried to stop crying but, that too, was impossible.

"F-Feliciano?" He shook the boy again.

Of course, there was no response. How could a body with its throat slit and its belly ripped open respond?

He sobbed. "Feliciano!" He put as much authority into his voice as he could.

But the boy was long gone, caramel eyes still staring straight ahead with such horror that Ludwig was tempted to look up to see what his little lover was so frightened of.

He dipped down to rest his forehead on Feliciano's chest, shoulders shaking.

Feliciano had been the only thing between him and insanity this whole war. Feliciano had been his first friend and first love in his long time of living.

_Feliciano was his reason for life and love and enjoyment_.

But Feliciano was gone.

_Feliciano was gone._

That thought repeated itself through his head until its tone changed, its weight changed, _how it went through his mind_… changed.

He lifted his head, eyes bloodshot but tearless – his pupils blending in with the reddened sclera.

_Feliciano was gone…_

**They **had stolen him away.

His pupils slid to study the building nearly out of sight, he was so far away.

_The man who began the war that killed Feliciano was in there_. He knew this for a fact.

_They're going to let him live because cheesy romance appeases them._ Hatred bloomed in his heart.

He wouldn't be going back there. _Feliciano_ wouldn't be going back there. _Feliciano_ was going to get better than a bonfire or a half-assed burial amidst the blood and decay and ash.

He stood to his feet, Feliciano's body in his arms as he turned his back to what he had fought for and walked forward into what he was going to fight for.

_Retribution. _

He wouldn't be gone for long.

* * *

Author's Note: This is basically a side chapter giving two different views on the end of the war.

Kiku and Heracles were randomly added for my amusement. Feliciano died because _someone_ had to. I'm sorry for all Feliciano lovers… including myself.

As for the last chapter! I'm so proud of all my reviewers; everyone answered my question as honestly as they could, or at least tried their hardest to. I'm awed by all the different versions of love. You all are such sweethearts!

And, also, I keep forgetting to shed even more love on you guys for another matter! OVER 100 REVIEWS! WHOOOOT! Actually, that happened about a chapter or two ago, but I kept forgetting to bring it up... You are all so amazing! I'm sorry that this chapter turned out to be depressing, but I hope it gets better from here.


	18. Take Me Home

Mathew was curled up in the bed, alone and scared.

Would they demand Ivan's life? _Would they_?

He was more than scared; he was terrified.

_They were bonded? _Only halfway bonded. That would explain that sensation he experienced when they had made love.

That had been Ivan's soul weaving into his own.

_They were bonded and Ivan was walking to his death_. He couldn't just _lie there_!

He tried to get back up; the pain that shot through his chest sent him right back down.

He kind of wished he hadn't freaked out on his papa now. He needed someone to talk to; anyone – _he wished his bear was still there…_

He missed Ivan. He missed his bear.

He wanted out of that damn bed! Yet the more he struggled, the sorer he felt.

_They were all hosers_. He cursed them in his mind, every single one of them, as hot tears rolled down his cheeks. If they wanted someone to die, they could take his life instead! If they needed someone to suffer, he would suffer for them!

Despite his thoughts, he knew that that wasn't what they wanted; they wanted the man who had murdered thousands, who had pillaged dozens of villages and towns, who had tortured so many…

_But Sunflower never did that! Sunflower is a part of Ivan and Ivan was just… was just…_

He couldn't think of a good enough excuse for him. Despite that, he continued to hope. He continued to _believe_.

It was too early to say that he couldn't live without Ivan; it was too cliché to say that he would die without him.

But he was willing to die _for_ him. He wanted nothing more than to live _with_ Ivan.

He didn't want to be alone again; left alone with his bear who he couldn't remember and who could never remember him. He didn't want to be left alone as his family forgot him yet again and time again.

_But is it right to want for nothing more than the life of a demon to live where thousands of others had died?_

He buried his face into the pillow.

He was going to sleep now… Hopefully, when he woke up, all would be better…

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

He hurt… everywhere.

As it turned out, they didn't want his life anymore; apparently, when villains turned into heroes, it was the _best_ kind of transition deserving of _any_ mercy.

Really, he just thought them all idiots, despite how (secretly) grateful he was. Even humans were not so generous with their fellow criminals who dipped their hands into crime for 'the greater good'.

Well, at least they had made him regret living – even if it had been the smallest of moments. They had made it hurt.

Basically, they couldn't trust him, even if they weren't going to kill him. Therefore, they had taken his heart into their possession, going through a routine of complicated tricks and happenings until he knew for a fact that he would never again see the damnable organ, even if it was his greatest wish to.

Aside from that, they had gone through the (horribly overrated) precautions of keeping him still for said heart removal. And then, _because they had no sharp knife in the middle of a fucking warzone_, they had resorted to using a dull butter knife to cut his chest open to get to his heart.

Who said the good guys always did the right thing?

And, again, his scarf had been taken from him. It had landed on the dirty, bloody floor and they had stepped over it endlessly, either forgetting its existence or ignorant to its moral value.

So the bonds and chains and handicaps they had instilled upon him had turned out… not to be so overrated.

Luckily, they had eventually returned the scarf, despite its filthy state.

And then they slapped an exile on him, stating that he better not show his face around them until they couldn't even _remember_ this war.

He had been only too happy to comply, that joy only deflating when they reminded him that they _would_ be visiting his angel_ often_.

He officially hated his angel's family. And Gilbert.

Especially Gilbert because it had been Gilbert to suggest the butter knife.

He stumbled down the hall.

They had given him an hour to collect himself, whatever he was bringing with him (Angel), and get the hell out.

They could return to the cottage with its many sunflowers, find Kumajirou, and _finally_ have some peace…

There was such a thing as peace, right? He hoped so… And, if not peace, than he had hoped for at least Angel to keep loving him.

Or was that peace? He was pretty sure they were one and the same thing; having his angel rush to his defense during his fight with Natalia, he had felt pretty calm, despite the fact that he knew he would have to kill his baby sister in another moment.

He crashed into a wall and then leaned there, not quite ready to move.

Apparently, ones body became very cold without a heart. It was odd because he could still feel the blood surging through his veins, the life humming through his frame.

He just felt old was all; used up and exhausted. He was _cold_.

He pushed onwards, following his angel's unmistakable scent.

He opened a door falling off its hinges and looked within.

His angel was curled on his side, facing away from the door, but Ivan caught the salty aroma of tears nonetheless.

He shut the door quietly behind him and edges his way closer.

Gently… gently… gently…

He kissed Angel, tasting the tears, the blood, and the maple syrup.

His angel shifted in his arms, cerulean blue eyes opening slowly before widening to almost comical proportions.

Ivan grinned down at him. "Hello, Angel. I am alive, da~"

Even before he could finish speaking, his angel's arms were tight around his shoulders, his face pushing against his neck. "I-Ivan!"

"Angel…" He returned his angel's hug, feeling unbearably happy in that moment.

His angel was warm.

"You are ready to go home, da?"

Angel nodded frantically against his throat. "A-and you'll b-be coming, t-too, eh?"

"Da."

His angel went limp against him, 'thank you' being repeated beneath his breath like an answered prayer.

"Ve vill have to find Kumajirou and then clean up the mess Gilbert made, but ve can go home now."

"Th-that's amazing!" Suddenly, he pulled away, cerulean meeting violet. "A-as happy as I-I am… I-I doubt th-they let you off-f that easily…"

He chuckled. "They have my heart, so they do not have to bother facing me if they have to kill me in the future, da~ oh, and I'm exiled." He said it flippantly.

He watched his angel's expression, warring between relief that it wasn't something worse and anger at what it was. "A-Are you okay w-with it, eh?"

He hadn't been _okay_ with how they had done it, but, well… "Da! This vay, I can still be vith my angel!"

His angel kissed him, softly, lovingly. He deepened the kiss, just about to lower him to the bed –

"But, Iggy, I'm the hero! I can't just let that, that-! NOOOOO! He's molesting my brother!" The door was torn from the wall as Alfred was dragged away.

Arthur peeked in through the door, eyes directed away from the couple. "You have 25 minutes to leave the camp." He met Angel's wide-eyed gaze. "Good luck, Mathew." And, with that, he left behind Alfred and Francis.

His angel was flushed red. "H-how long were they there?"

Ivan shrugged; he had been a little… distracted. It nonetheless irked him that he hadn't felt their presence.

"Ve should leave now."

He stood up, ignoring the pain that clenched his muscles and tore his wounds a little more.

His angel followed him, wearing only Ivan's overcoat. Ivan stroked back his golden curls.

When they got home, he wanted them to take a shower together; there was so much blood and, though it honestly didn't bother him for himself to be one scarlet streak against the backdrop of his surroundings, his angel just didn't look right bathed in the life's essence.

He ignored the twinge of desire in his gut, however; Ivan Braginski he still was, no matter how willing he was to change a _few_ things. His bloodlust was not going to disappear over night and it would possibly be a few decades before the urge he had developed over the past few hours to (torture, torment, mock, _brutally murder_) 'show' Alfred his 'place' dissipated.

"If I carry you, it vill go by much faster, da."

His angel flushed, but nodded. Ivan swept him off his feet into a bridal-style hold, enjoying immensely Angel's warmth pressed so close to him, despite the still open wound in his chest.

Hopefully, his angel wouldn't not-

"I-Ivan, is there a _hole_ in y-your chest?"

"I did say they took my heart, da?"

His angel looked about to pass out.

"Let's find Kumajirou and go home."

* * *

Author's Note: … I suck at drama… So I couldn't go through this epic turn of events where Mathew has to fight tooth and nail to save Ivan's life. And I didn't want to do angst, so I couldn't kill Ivan either…


	19. Stitch and Stir

"H-hey, Ivan, c-could you please h-help me?"

Ivan paused in watering the sunflowers, cocking his head curiously. "Da." He straightened up and put the watering can to one side, ignoring the drowsing polar bear on the kitchen table as he took the hall back to their bedroom.

Was there something wrong? His angel was always independent, even though they had been living together for nearly five months now.

His angel rarely ever asked for help.

"Angel, vat do you need help-… with…!" He had to grab the doorjamb in a wood-splintering grip to stop himself from attacking his angel.

There, lying in the middle of their bed on his knees, was Angel wearing only Ivan's simple white sweater that drooped off one shoulder and rode up his hips to reveal the perfectly round globes of his ass – which oh so happened to be angled _just right_ so that he could see his angel's face _and_ what he was doing with his hands.

Ivan watched avidly, _hungrily_, as his angel continued to pump himself with one hand and thrust two fingers into his tight entrance with the other.

His angel smiled shakily, cheeks flushed red and breathing in short gasps. "G-good… Y-you couldn't s-s-smell it over the s-s-sunflowers…" His angel let loose a heady groan, back arching. He was fresh from the shower, hair still damp and coming down his face in loose curls. His cerulean blue eyes were heavy lidded.

He was pure temptation; who was Ivan, a demon known to easily succumb to pleasures, to deny him?

He swallowed thickly, tongue running over his lips.

Perhaps he hadn't been able to smell it before, but now the aroma of lust assaulted him like fists to his senses, demanding his absolute, undivided attention.

"Angel…" His voice was low, nearly a growl. The doorjamb that had already shattered in his grip now let loose another stubborn moan before breaking off the wall entirely. "Vat are you doing?"

Whatever it was, Ivan purred to himself, he was going to be a part of it _very_ soon.

His angel bit his bottom lip. "I-I… I t-think we have enough t-time now t-to… to complete the b-bond, eh?"

Both irritation and awe became apparent in his violet eyes.

Irritation because saying 'have enough time _now_' reminded him of all the unwelcomed _visitors_ they had had since coming back home. Obviously, the allied forces had come up with a new way of torturing him and that was keeping him away from his angel or else die suddenly without having time to realize _why_.

Most of the time, they didn't even send a letter or call forward saying they were going to arrive; randomly, they would just appear and Ivan would be unceremoniously shoved out the back door by his concerned and worried lover. His angel would always call him once their 'guests' had left, but sometimes that took hours – if not _days_ – to happen.

Awe because his angel wanted to complete the bond.

"If ve do that, Angel, you vill die if I die and you vill feel my pain… You vill live only as long as I live, even if that is a million years or only a few more days." He left out the things he didn't find so important, considering he was already that way; such as how possessive he would be or how easily envious or even that the bonded scent would make potential lovers for his angel run away unless they had a death wish.

Really, Ivan was already possessive and overly protective, sometimes to the point where even his angel seemed to grow a little irritated. Whether or not his angel had potential lovers, Ivan was more than willing to cut them all down – only stopped by his angel stepping into his way, saying always _"I don't want you to die!"_

"I-I know…" His angel gasped as he added a third finger. "I-I'm ok-kay with that, eh…"

He was about to erupt just watching his angel as he prepared himself. It took self-control he didn't even know he had to not rush forward and ravish his lover.

And then his angel spoke those magical words. "C-could you h-help me, eh?"

The bed screeched and hit the wall as Ivan tackled his angel to the mattress, overestimating how much force it would take to fly at the bed and arrive there in less than a second.

His thoughts were frenzied; how could they _not_ be frenzied with such a delicious sight before him?

Should he bother to even get undressed? Should he bother to check that his angel had done a sufficient job? Sometimes, they didn't; his angel liked it rough and Ivan never did fair well with clothing when he was so evidently sexually frustrated (again, he silently cursed the unwelcomed guests who only came to push him away from his angel).

But this had to be special, didn't it? His angel wanted to complete the bond, not fuck till the bed snapped in two – even though that time had been _mind-blowing. _

He managed to take his own clothes off – despite ripping the button off his jeans and tearing his shirt when it seemed determined to catch on his scarf.

He eyeballed Angel; should he take off the sweater? It looked very _cute_ and his angel had put it on just for him…

His lover decided for him, grabbing the tails of his scarf and tugging him down so that their tongues battled and their teeth clacked together.

Remember – gentle.

His angel mewled keenly. "I-Ivan! I n-need you, eh! I l-love you, Iv-van!" There was deviltry in his cerulean blue eyes.

Fuck gentle. _Literally_.

He spat on his hand and rubbed his straining member before pushing slowly into his angel.

They groaned in unison. "Angel…"

"I-Ivan…"

He moved gently, rotating his hips until he was fully within his angel. He paused, breathing heavily, waiting for the signal to keep thrusting.

It came in the form of his angel's lips against his, his whispered pleas swallowed by him.

"Ivan!" Angel arched up into him as the pace roughened, as he let his abdominal muscles flex his entire length in and out of his blonde lover. "Ivan!" Cerulean blue eyes became blind, his angel's hands clawing into his scarf and then across his shoulders.

His responses were always so innocent, so honest…

He threw one of his angel's legs over his shoulder, striving deeper, changing angles, _searching_…

"AAAAH!" Angel threw his head back, hands tangling in Ivan's hair. "M-more!"

_There_; that beautiful little spot deep within his angel that made him so very responsive and desperate. Time and time again, he struck that spot with the force of his body behind every thrust.

His angel's hand fell from his hair, caught in the fabric of his scarf, and then managed to bring the material to his mouth to muffle his screams, the scarf slipping off of Ivan's throat with the guiltless persuasion.

"You… You are close… da?" His angel was so tight around him. He shoved the shirt his angel wore up to his collarbone and dipped his head, licking the hardened nipples beneath.

His lover wailed around the scarf. "Y-YES!"

"That is… That is good…" He held one hand at Angel's hip, keeping him moving, as the other hand balanced himself above his lover. "Open… yourself up to me."

His angel looked up at him with wide-eyed confusion.

"Your heart… your soul… open them up like doors and let me in."

"I-I…" His angel moaned, biting down on his scarf. "d-d-don't think… I-I c-c-c-CAN!"

"Da, you can… You love me?"

"Y-yes!"

"With heart and soul?"

"_M-maple_, Yes-s-s!"

"Then let me into them."

They drew closer to the edge, so close Ivan thought that maybe Angel couldn't do it. That was alright, some people simply couldn't do it and others just needed practice.

He would be more than happy to help his little lover… _learn_, of course.

Nonetheless, he kept himself open – vulnerably so and the sensation wasn't all that great – in case there was a last minute miracle –

_Oh, gods…_

It wasn't hard to attach one thing to another; to _blend_ them, however… The first time, it had been nothing more than connecting a rope from one end to another.

Now it was cementing together two entirely different substances.

Emotions twisted in his gut that weren't his; intense love, overwhelming pleasure, _utmost need_…

He yelled something incoherent as he came, still overcome by Angel's emotions entwining with his own, brewing a very heady concoction that made his head spin and his body shake.

Two souls, two minds, two hearts (he still had one, it just wasn't _with_ him) blending together to create one being with two bodies. _Amazing_. He felt as if their souls were literally being pulled together, twined inseparably, never to be split apart. He felt his blood ebb and flow in rhythm to his angel's heartbeat. _Sublime_.

They basked in the afterglow, still gasping, still quivering.

"I-… Ivan…?" His angel's soft voice finally dissipated the silence.

"…Da?" He let his angel's leg slip off his shoulder and rolled them over so that his little lover was limp against his chest and they could lie comfortably. He held Angel close to him, not yet willing to slip out of him.

"Are we… bonded n-now?"

"… Da…" He grinned. "Ve are insep~era~ble now~"

His angel smiled in turn, his happiness felt in Ivan's emotions. "I can feel your love…" His angel whispered in wonder. "It's… It's powerful, eh."

And so was his love, Ivan thought. It warm and inviting; he wanted nothing more than to bathe in his angel's love.

"D-do you think this will last?"

He was referring to the empathy. "I do not know; sister did not explain this to me ven she first told me of soul bonding."

Angel laughed softly. "As much as I love you, Ivan… I hope not. I've seen you when you get jealous and it's not something I'd enjoy feeling, eh."

"That is true; but I vould like to see you blow off your admirers such as I do."

"I'm sure you would."

He slipped out of his angel, no longer able to force the limp appendage to stay put. He shuddered at the sensation and his lover gasped.

"I-Ivan… Does this mean w-we'll…" His lover traced an imaginary trail across his chest. "… We'll be t-together forever?"

"Da!" He felt insanely happy knowing that; finally, he wouldn't be forced to walk through eternity alone…

He would have his angel with him every step of the way.

* * *

Author's Note: I thought about ending it here… but then I thought that would be unfair and terrible.


	20. Phone Home

"It isn't that weird, actually…"

Katsyusha and Mathew sat together in Mathew's living room. They each held a cup of hot chocolate, the heavily endowed woman holding hers to her large chest while Mathew fiddled with his own.

"I-it isn't?"

They were discussing the empathy he and Ivan had been experiencing since bonding.

"No, not at all! A lot of mates come out with their own strange trait!" She chimed. "I met this couple once who had it much worse than you two." She soothed.

Mathew frowned. "I-it's not a _bad_ situation… You don't have to make it sound like t-there's about nothing w-worse to have…" He leaned conspiringly closer. "… Like w-what, eh?"

Mathew didn't ask because he thought the empathy he shared with his mate and lover, Ivan, was a curse (though sometimes it was testing on him, especially when Ivan would become angry and _that_ well of boiling hot _rage_ usually sent Mathew to desperate measures to try and retain his own sanity at times); he asked because empathy was a very strong connection between emotions – what could be more painful, _rawer_ than feeling your lover's hatred without even having to see it or hear it?

Katsyusha giggled. "they were _telepathic_."

"Maple…" Mathew breathed in sympathy. "Why do you think it h-happens?" He was referring to the mates gaining any gift at all that connected them in such ways.

Katsyusha thought about it for a long moment, humming cutely beneath her breath in thought. "I… don't know…" She murmured. "… I've never been bonded before, so all I can do is guess…"

"I c-can live with a guess, eh…"

"… Well… Maybe it's because your two souls… are one? So when you have one soul in two different bodies… It's like… It's like…" As she struggled to find a synonym for whatever example she had in mind, she fretted in her chair, her breasts audibly bouncing. "… Oh!" She giggled, putting the hot chocolate to her lips. "It's like a phone!"

".. A-a… A phone?" Mathew stared down into his cup, trying to make the connection.

"Yep! Like 'phone home'? Your one soul in two different bodies, so you have to stay connected somehow!" She almost _glowed_ with how she smiled so brightly.

Mathew nodded slowly at first and then with vigor, a smile spreading his lips. "That does make sense! Th-thank you, Katsyush- AH!"

"What is it?" Instantly, the female demon was on her feet, wrapping an arm around his back and dragging him face-first into her supple chest. "Are you okay?"

He only managed to make unintelligent muffled sounds through the fabric and flesh of her upper torso.

"What?"

She pulled back somewhat and he sucked in a deep breath. "I-Ivan… I think… I think he…"

Katsyusha was paling, thinking the worst. "What? _What_?"

"… I think he f-found a bunny…"

The woman nearly collapsed. "What?"

"W-whenever he finds a cute b-bunny, or something just as s-small and c-cute, I get this s-strong wave of all th-these emotions, eh…"

"Please, Mathew…" She whimpered. "Please don't do that again."

Mathew looked down at his feet, dejection written out in his gaze. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay…"

Seven miles out of Mathew's territory, Ivan had stopped, dead motion, staring to the snow-covered ground with wide, almost childlike, eyes, his mouth gaping slightly open. "… Bunny…" He stared at the motionless white creature gazing intently back at him. "… You are… so… _cute!_"

* * *

Author's Note: Did the characters seem a little OOC in this chapter? Or was the bunny just that cute?


	21. The Descent

Ivan had been awake for about a half hour now.

His angel was having a dream… A very _happy_, very _sexual_ dream that most likely included him.

He didn't need the naked hard-on pressed against his thigh to know that his angel was having a wet dream; he could feel the emotions and the need rolling through his own system like a rollercoaster.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, his angel jolted awake, beautiful blue eyes shooting open to reveal brimming lust and overwhelming love.

Ivan would have attacked his angel right then – would have tackled him into the mattress (or onto the ground, depending on how strong his momentum was) and had his way with him time after time – except for one thing.

"Who's horny?" A flat-toned voice asked from the doorway.

"K-Kumamaru!" His angel's expression of unconquerable want died a quick and painful death (or what felt to Ivan to be painful). His angel looked from his own erected member to Ivan's and then to the small polar bear sitting in the doorway, watching them. His face flushed red.

Ivan laughed, making a mental note to himself to get revenge (nothing Ivan-y; something simple like what Sunflower would have done) on the creature later. "Hello, Kumajirou!"

The bear ran a paw behind his ear, the picture of disinterest. "The hamburger guy is coming." With that, he stood up, got up onto the bed, and began snoring, his body sprawled over one pillow.

Ivan devised a number of ways to murder his lover's brother without falling under suspicion even as his lover left the heat of their embrace to zip around the room. He ran into the bathroom and the shower could be heard; a few minutes later, he ran back out, sopping wet, and dressed.

Ivan could feel his anxiety.

"C-come on, Ivan! Y-you've got to leave, eh!... W-well… You might want to p-put some pants on, first…"

Less than a minute later, they were at the backdoor, kissing lovingly in farewell.

"I'll call you when he's gone, eh?"

"Da..." He paused, scowling.

This was new…

"Hello, Alfred; I vas just about to leave." Standing behind them in the backdoor was the self-proclaimed hero. "Are you going to kill me for not having enough of a varning to leave?"

"A-Alfred!" His lover gasped. "What h-happened to you?"

The self-proclaimed hero had bags under his bloodshot eyes and wan skin. There was dirt in his hair, slashes through his clothes and residue splattered across one side of his face and on his hand.

His sky blue eyes were more of ice, dead and yet so very hateful, as they focused on Ivan. "You're going to help us save the world." No argument, no reason why.

Just simply ordered.

Ivan felt like being difficult. "Oh? And if I do not vant to?" His lover's sorrow hit him like a punch in the gut. "Vy does the vorld need saving?"

Alfred looked to the ground. "… It's Ludwig… He's gone insane, man! He attacked us today – _damn it_, we haven't even seen him since the war ended! I don't even know _why_ he did it…"

His angel's fear and horror welled up inside of him. "A-Alfred, wh-what happened?" His angel wrapped his arms comfortingly around his brother.

His own jealousy rose, but his lover just gave him a look that begged him to understand; accompanied by his emotions, there was no way he could fight him.

"Ludwig! That asshole! He captured them, Mattie! I'm the hero, I should have been able to protect them – but we weren't expecting it, Ludwig was our ally – "

"Captured _who_?"

Alfred took in a deep, shuddering breath. "… Arthur… Kiku… Tito… Elizaveta… Roderich… Vash… He has them, Mattie…" He lifted his head from his lover's shoulder and glowered at Ivan. "That's why you're gonna fight for the good side this time! You do this and I'll give you your heart back."

His angel's hope flooding his senses made his decision obvious. "Fine." He held out a hand.

After a moment, Alfred shook it – there was resolve in his expression, burning rage.

His lover rested both his hands on top of theirs. "W-we'll get them back, eh? A-and we'll d-defeat Ludwig."

"Da."

"Right!"

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

It was amazing, today's technological advances.

Ludwig stared into the tightly sealed, glass-covered coffin. Feliciano didn't look like he had the day he had died; Ludwig had cleaned him up to the best of his ability and then had stitched his wounds shut, taking painstaking care while doing so.

He appeared to be sleeping – not caught in death's embrace. If only Ludwig could coax those stiff lips to smile; then the illusion would be complete.

He would be able to stare into the coffin, believing without a doubt that Feliciano would wake up at any moment to smile up at him and embrace him.

He turned his back to his deceased lover, ice blue eyes rimmed scarlet focusing instead on the man he had once labeled 'ally' and 'friend'.

Arthur lifted his head to stare back at him, expression giving away none of the fear he felt, none of the betrayal or pain he had to be experiencing.

"You will find a way to bring him back."

The warlock looked at him as if he were something dirty that had gotten stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "You can't bring back the dead!"

He lifted Arthur by the throat, other hand coming up to shed him of his clothes. "You better find a way to." He shoved him back onto the ground. "Or I will make you sorely regret being useless to me."

He stepped aside, allowing his ever loyal brother to take his place. The albino stared without expression at the Brit's unmarked back.

And then a ravenous grin split across his lips. "Kesesese… The awesome me is gonna show you how unawesome you are!" He pulled out a set of daggers.

Ludwig watched without emotion as the warlock descended into reluctant screams.

* * *

Author's Story: The End… Most likely. It's a suspenseful end, isn't it? It's going to leave you wondering: 'how the HELL are they going to defeat Ludwig?'

This chapter was actually supposed to be the beginning of the sequel where Ludwig goes mad, but I found that I didn't have the inspiration for that kind of work. So, for a while, I thought to actually ignore it altogether and end the story at chapter 19. Sadly, that did not seem complete. So many people were asking about Ludwig... so I did this instead.

So this is the end! … Unless I am inspired to write a sequel! Please don't get your hopes up.


	22. A Note to My Readers

This is _not_ an update. This is just a very big author's note.

Regarding a sequel… Many people have asked and I have told them all the same thing, but I'm just going to hand his nifty piece of information to all you readers as well. I will not be making a sequel: I'm sorry, I know it's cruel of me, and I am just evil for leaving you all with such a high cliffhanger.

However… there is hope! I am willing to let someone else write the sequel if they feel so inclined. All I ask is that anyone interested in writing a sequel come through me first and have decent grammar as well as a plan to actually write the story.

Thank you all for reading this and, again, I'm sorry that I will not be writing a sequel. I just don't have it in me to do so. Please understand that.

Have a wonderful day, week, month, year, and life! You are all darling to me, and thank you for your reviews.


	23. Sequels Decided

I should have done this a very _looong_ time ago, but I was thinking to myself, oh, I'll just wait till I know who exactly is going to write or not. I've decided against that game plan now.

For the sequel for this story, I decided to let a certain number of authors write their own versions of the sequel – meaning that there are going to be multiple sequels… at some point or another. I can't remember all of the authors off the top of my head, but I'm certain there are four to five at most. At this point, I am accepting no more requests – sorry for anyone who wanted to write a sequel who didn't apply.

At the moment, there's actually only one sequel out; the other authors have given their reasons and they will try to write after some series of events.

'Beauty of Annihilation' by Onryoii is on the market! She's some chapters in and the story is fantastic thus far~ you will definitely enjoy this read if you enjoyed 'Loveless War'. She gets more in depth to the supernatural side of love.

I am not making any updates at this point. But I do love you all!


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